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THE 


ISclCCtU 


DECEMBER,  1854. 


Art.  1.  —  Vie  de  Toussaint  L'Ouverture.  [Life  of  Toiissaint 

L’Ouvcrture.]  Par  Saint  Ilemy.  Haiti:  l)es  Caves.  Paris: 

Cloquet,  liiliraire-Editcur.  1850. 

A  NOVEL  by  ]\Iiss  ^Martiiieau,  and  a  drama  by  M.  Lamartine, 
attest,  at  least,  the  existence  of  a  general  belief  in  the  heroic 
worth  of  this  celebrated  negro.  We  have  consequently  long 
wished  to  meet  with  an  authentic  and  solid  biography  of  a 
man  who  has  been  painted  in  the  fairest  colours  of  fiction.  The 
publication  of  M.  Saint  Ilemy  does  not  supply  this  want.  Prolix 
and  bombastic  in  style,  and  labouring  to  exalt  the  subject  of  the 
biograjdiy  by  encomiums,  instead  of  exhibiting  his  merits  to  speak 
for  themselves,  the  book  has  been  perhaps  the  most  wearisome 
reading  wdiich  has  ever  exhausted  a  somewhat  w'ell-tried  courage 
and  jiatience.  But  it  contains  some  dates  whicli  seem  reliable, 
several  authentic  documents,  and  the  sym])athies  and  ju’ejudices 
natural  to  a  negro  w  ho  is  boasting  about  a  great  man  of  his  race, 
if  wo  can  succeed  in  giving  our  readers  in  a  few  pages  the  pith 
and  essence  of  what  is  contained  in  four  hundred,  their  patience 
will  certainly  be  less  tried  than  ours  has  been.  Toussaint 
L'Ouverture,  the  liberator  of  Saint  Domingo,  is  a  historical  figure, 
in  the  end  of  the  last  century,  of  whom  little  is  known,  and  of 
considerable  ethnological  and  historical  importance. 

This  biography  is  preceded  by  a  portrait  of  L'Ouverturc,  which 
is  stated  to  be  authentic.  The  liberator  hiinscdf  gave  it,  or  rather 
the  original  of  it,  to  the  agent  Roumd,  in  whose  family  it  ha.s  been 
piously  preserved  ever  since,  and  it  is  now  in  the  possession  of 
Count  lloumd  de  Saint  Laurent,  who  is  resident  in  Paris.  Among 

N.S. — VOL.  VIII.  T  T 


CA2 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  T/oUVEUTURE. 


the  caricatures  of  Robert  Kay,  of  Edinburgh,  there  is  a  print  of 
L’Ouverture,  ^vhich  is  doubtless  a  copy  of  a  contemporary  portrait. 
Kay  s  print  re])resents  him  as  the  general  and  governor  of  Saint 
Domingo,  in  the  act  of  reviewing  his  troops.  Roth  |)ortraits 
agree  in  giving  him  a  pair  of  wild,  bright,  earnest  eyes,  witli 
cheeks  and  chin  expressive  of  firmness,  endurance,  and  enerirv. 
In  the  full-length  of  Kay,  the  whole  figure  is  replete  with  ener<gy, 
and  nothing  of  the  negro  features  is  retained  except  the  black 
skin.  In  the  ludf-len^h  published  by  M.  Saint  Reiny,  L'Ouver- 
ture  is  represented  in  the  three  plumed  hat,  and  gold  decked 
coat,  of  a  French  general,  with  a  white  neckcloth  and  shirt -ruffles  ; 
the  t‘arn(‘stness  of  the  eyes  is  intensified  to  wildness,  and  the 
lirmness  of  the  lower  jaw^  is  increased  to  obstinacy  and  stern¬ 
ness.  An  intelligent  and  energetic  man  is  represented  in  both 
portraits,  and  in  that  possessed  by  the  Roiime  family,  while  the 
lineaments  of  these  characteristics  are  brought  out  most  fully, 
L’Ouv(*rture,  neverthele.sss,  is  displayed  in  all  the  marks  of  what 
is  deemed  negro  ugliness.  His  mouth  ]>rojects;  and,  although 
in  a  tie,  his  hair  is  plainly  woolly  ;  his  lips  are  thick,  and  the 
lower  one,  especially,  is  enormous.  Resignation  is  said  to  be  the 
moral  characteristic  of  the  negro  or  Ethiopian  race.  On  the  faces 
of  negro  women,  who,  if  not  the  fairest  of  the  fair,  are  perhaps 
the  gentlest  of  the  gentle  sex,  this  characteristic  is  often  beauti- 
fullv  seen.  However,  "we  cannot  sav  we  have  remarked  it  on  the 
faces  of  negro  men,  and  most  certainly  there  is  nothing  of  it  visible 
in  the  countenance  of  the  chief  of  their  race,  Toussaint  L'Ouver- 
ture ;  he  looks  a  man  full  of  indignation  against  injustice,  and 
determined  to  resist  it  to  the  death. 

Tlie  little  generally  knowm  of  the  most  famous  of  the  negroes 
can  be  statecl  in  few  w'ords.  Boni  a  slave,  he  raised  him.self  by 
education  and  j^erseverance  to  be  the  general  of  the  negroes  ot 
Saint  Domingo  in  revolt,  and  successfullv  established  their  inde- 
pendence.  When  victorious,  the  motto  on  his  Hag  was — ‘Ao 
Retaliation."  His  courage  as  a  soldier  and  his  skill  as  a  general 
were  equalled  by  his  capacity  for  legislation.  Forced  to  surrender 
in  his  last  struggle  for  the  independence  of  Hayti,  before  the 
overwhelming  forces  of  Buonaparte,  the  First  Consul,  he  retired 
to  his  estate  under  a  guarantee  of  protection.  He  was,  notwith¬ 
standing,  privately  seized,  hurried  on  board  a  French  man-ot-war, 
im]>risoned  in  an  icy  dungeon  amidst  the  snows  of  the  Alps,  and 
tlu‘ro  starved  to  death,  if  not  by  the  express  orders,  certainly  by 
the  neglect  and  guilt  of  Buonaparte.  His  assassination  roused 
his  countrymen  to  arms,  and  Dessaline,  his  successor,  aided 
by  the  unfavourable  issue  of  the  last  general  war  to  France, 
established  permanently  the  independence  and  liberties  of  his 
country  n>en. 


LIFE  OF  TOUjSSAINT  L'OUVERTUUE. 


(>43 


Such  are  the  brief  outlines  of  the  facts  i^^eutTally  known.  M. 
Saint  Rt'inv,  when  ])veparing  his  work,  ha»l  access  to  the  docu¬ 
ments  of  the  French  ministers  of  manne  and  war,  and  he  ]>ub- 
lishes  enough  of  solid  materials  to  reveal  the  truth  ivspecting  the 
life  and  death  of  his  hero. 

Hayti  was  discovered  by  Christopher  Columbus,  and  the  chief 
town,  and,  for  several  centuries,  the  whole  island,  wen^  called  Saint 
Domingo,  after  the  name  of  his  father.  Havti  means  liiuh  moun- 
tains,  a  chain  of  which  runs  from  the  east  to  the  south.  The 
island  contains  about  half  a  million  of  inhabitants,  although 
capable  of  sustaining  twenty  millions  upon  its  six  thousand  miles 
square  of  suHace.  (Jvando,  one  of  the  historians  of  the  <liscovery, 
relates  how  (  \jlumbus  and  his  companions,  liaving  found  a  heavy 
block  of  quartz  containing  gold,  used  it  as  a  table,  upon  which 
they  eat  a  roasted  j)ig. 

The  culture  of  a  few  rotts,  the  chase,  and  tishing  furnished  the 
aborigines  of  Hayti  with  the  supply  of  their  wants.  But  the 
Spaniards  soon  compelled  them  to  search  for  gold  in  the  mine.s, 
and  when  their  sufferings  diminished  the  population,  negroes 
were  bought  upon  the  shores  of  Africa,  and  imported  to  laljour 
and  gratify  the  lust  for  gold.  In  one  of  the  jv'rr/  es  made  iqion 
the  African  tribes,  a  son  of  the  king  or  chief  »*f  the  Aradas  was 
seized,  called  Gaou-Guinou.  He  was  sold  to  the  manager  of  the 
sugar  plantation  of  Count  de  Breda,  M.  Bayou  do  Liliertas,  ^  ho 
treated  his  slaves  well.  Gaou-Guinou  was  ivcognis^.d  by  several 
slaves  of  his  own  tribe  or  nation,  his  predecessors  in  misfortum^, 
and  chosen  as  their  chief  or  king.  By  a  union  with  one  of  his 
companions  in  slavery,  he  became  the  father  of  two  girls  and  three 
boys.  The  eldest,  Francois-Domini(|ue-Toussaiut  L’Guverturc, 
was  born,  it  is  said,  upon  the  2(>th  of  May,  1743.  Fraiujois  was 
such  a  weakly  child  that  he  was  nicknamed  Jidton,  or 

Straw-Stalk.  At  the  age  of  twidve,  however,  no  Ijoy  could  run 
more  swiftly,  swim  across  a  torrent  more  quickly,  or  more  adroitly 
manage  a  wild  horse.  His  occiqiation  was  that  of  a  herd-bciy,  in 
which  doubtless  he  acquired  his  characteristic  habit  of  silence. 

King  Gaou-Guinou  would  probably  have  cut  a  poor  figure  (if 
examined  in  his  capacity  of  an  educator)  in  the  report  of  an  e<lu- 
cational  inspector.  He  knew,  however,  how  to  make  a  weakly 
boy  strong,  instead  of  how  to  make  strong  boys  sickly.  Swift 
running  means  good  respiration  ;  firm  riding,  self-}K>ssession  ;  and 
swimming,  courage  and  cleanlines.s.  Gaou-Guinou  knew,  in 
short,  how  to  educate  or  draw  forth  the  muscular  and  respiratory 
organs  of  his  boy.  He  was  also  capable  of  imparting  a  useful 
knowledge  of  ])ractical  iMjtany.  His  son  was  able,  from  the*  in¬ 
structions  of  his  father  in  the  mntfiria  niOAUcti  of  the  African 
nation.s,  to  treat  most  of  the  maladies  of  hot  countries. 

T  T  2 


6li 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L’OUVERTURE. 


Gtoou-Guinou  outlived  his  sou,  Avho  was  himself  sixty  years  old 
when  he  wrote,  in  his  last  appeal,  from  his  dungeon  in  Fort  du 
Joux  in  the  Alps,  to  the  First  Consul  Buonaparte,  as  follows : — 
‘  I  am  not  learned ;  1  am  ignorant ;  hut  my  father,  who  is  now 
blind,  showed  me  the  path  of  virtue  and  probity,  and  I  am  strong 
in  my  conscience  in  that  regard/  ‘  Gaou,'  the  prefix  of  the  name 
of  the  lather,  signifies  ‘good/ 

Tlie  handwriting  of  lyOuverture  was  very  defective  even  when 
he  had  to  sign  important  state  documents.  He  could  speak  to 
his  countrymen  in  their  African  language,  and  he  read  and  spoke 
F rcnch  tolerably  well.  Brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic,  he  had 
the  accomplishment  common  among  the  members  of  his  church 
of  ri*ading  Latin  without  understanding  it.  Small  as  were  his 
scholastic  attainments,  no  one  knew  how  he  obtained  them.  He 
never  seems  to  have  had  any  schooling  nor  any  teacher.  Some¬ 
how  or  other  he  picked  up  a  little  arithmetic,  and  these  seem  to 
have  been  the  sum  of  his  accpiirements.  In  due  time  the  boy 
passed  from  herding  cattle  to  labouring  in  the  fields  under  the 
ia.sh  of  the  whip  of  the  commander — the  slave  whose  business  it 
was  ti>  keep  the  others  to  their  work.  From  this  painful  position 
his  iiitelligence,  steadiness  and  knowledge  of  horses  raised  him 
in  a  few  yt'ars,  and  he  was  appointed  coachman  to  his  master. 
Found  trustworthy  and  sober  in  this  situation,  he  had  by-and- 
by,  in  addition  to  the  horses,  the  care  of  the  utensils  of  the  sugar- 
house  confided  to  him. 

M.  Bayou,  his  master,  wished  him  to  marry  a  young  and 
mettlesome  negi*ess,  but  T/Cuverture  preferred  a  woman  who 
was  a  good  housewife,  and  whom  he  had  long  known.  8he  had 
already  borne  a  son  named  Placide  to  a  man  of  colour.  Toussaint 
plaetnl  his  hearth  under  the  protection  of  the  marriage-rite  at  the 
church  of  llaut-du-Ca}),  and  adopted  and  legitimated  his  wife’s 
boy.  11  is  prudence  was  rewarded  by  domestic  happiness.  ‘  Wo 
went  to  the  fields  hand-in-hand,"  said  L’Ouverture  to  a  traveller 
long  afterwards,  ‘  and  we  came  back  the  same,  having  scarcely 
perceived  the  fatigues  of  the  day.  Heaven  always  blessed  our 
toil,  and  we  swam  in  abundance,  having  always  something  to  give 
to  the  needy.  On  Sundays  and  fete  days,  my  relatives,  myself, 
and  my  wife  went  to  the  mass.  After  our  return  we  ])artook  of 
agreeable  repast  together,  and  we  spent  the  rest  of  the  day 
enfamillcy  and  closed  it  with  a  j^rayer  cn  commun/ 

M.  Saint  Remy  finds  it  to  be  a  mysterious  thing  that  Toussaint 
did  not  buy  his  freedom  with  his  savings,  and  make  himself  a 
free  man.  The  perusal  of  RaynaPs  ‘  Philosojdiic  History’  had 
infused  into  his  mind  the  ideas  about  the  rights  of  man  which 
])ropared  the  French  revolution.  His  apparent  contentment  in 
the  condition  of  a  slave  is  accordant  with  the  prudence  and  good 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  l'oUVEUTUUE. 


G45 


sense,  the  culm  insight,  and  cool  reason  of  liis  cliaracter.  By 
buying  his  freedom,  he  would  have  juirchased  only  the  painful 
condition  of  a  free  man  of  colour.  This  condition  was  such  in 
ilayti,  that  the  free  negroes  and  mulaltoes  were  the  first  to  take 
up  arms  when  the  enthusiasm  of  the  French  metropolis  spread  to 
the  colonies.  Fatnis- Baton,  or  Straw-Stalk,  was  well  oft*,  and 
knew  it,  in  comparison  with  most  of  his  race.  The  fall  of  the 
B;ustile  Wius  hailed  everywhere  as  the  deathblow  of  tyranny.  Led 
by  Vincent  t)ge,  the  free  blacks  claimed  eipial  rights,  and  the 
C’onstituent  Assembly  decreed  tlieir  concession.  Ogd  arrived  in 
liayti  to  demand  the  execution  of  the  decree,  which  the  colonial 
aristocracy  refused,  lie  was  defeated  and  put  to  death.  But  his 
execution  only  caused  the  spread  of  the  insurrection,  and  a  move¬ 
ment  which  began  as  a  demand  for  eipial  rights  by  the  free  blacks 
grew  into  a  struggle  for  the  abolition  of  slavery.  The  com¬ 
manders  of  the  plantations  in  the  north  of  the  i.sland  met  in  the 
night  of  the  1  kh  August,  171)1,  and  arranged  the  insurrection 
of  the  slaves  for  the  21st,  when  it  burst  out.  A  slave  named 
Bouckman,  from  Jamaica,  wiis  the  chief.  In  one  week,  from  the 
north  to  the  eiust  and  west,  the  island  presented  a  vast  scene  of 
assassination  and  devasUition.  The  ))rincely  colonists  who  t'seaped 
rode  over  ashes  and  corpses  to  the  C\ipe,  where  they  establislied 
a  new  colonial  assembly.  Toiissaint  maintained  at  this  time  an 
attitude  which  enabled  him  to  ])rotect  his  nuuster  and  mistress. 

‘  He  saw  with  inexj)ressible  joy,’  he  said,  ‘  his  master,  M.  Bayou, 
among  his  slaves  at  a  moment  when  it  sutliced  to  be  a  white  to 
bo  massacred.'  His  nuister  took  arms  as  a  dragoon,  and  when 
Tous.siunt  feared  he  could  no  longer  ])rotect  Madame  Bayou,  his 
mistress,  he  contided  her  to  his  brother  Paul,  who  drove  her  in 
her  carriage  to  the  Cape. 

When  Madame  Bayou  was  gone,  the  warnings  of  Bruno,  the 
commander,  and  of  Toussiunt,  could  not  prevent  the  majority  of 
the  slaves  of  the  estate  from  joining  the  insurgents.  After 
placing  his  wife  and  two  children  in  a  place  of  security  in  the 
mountains,  Toussaint  set  out  himself  for  the  camp  at  Oalitfet. 
Bouckman,  a  man  of  herculean  strength  and  fanatical  courage, 
had  been  killed,  and  was  succeeded  in  the  command  by  Jean- 
FraiKj'ois,  and  his  lieutenants,  Biassou  and  Jeannot.  Jean-Fran- 
<;ois  wius  a  handsome  and  intelligent  Creole,  who  had  run  iiway 
b'om  slavery,  and  lived  the  life  of  a  maroon  in  the  mountains. 
Biassou  appears  to  have  been  a  courageous  but  drunken  and 
debauchetl  savage.  Jeannot,  as  cruel  .as  Biassou,  was  more  active 
and  woltish,  and  his  hatred  to  the  whites  led  him  not  merely  to 
make  a  ma.ssiicre  upon  the  plantation  ot  his  master,  but  to  take 
uj)  the  blood  in  his  hands  and  drink  it,  siiying — ‘  ()h,  my  triends, 
the  blood  of  the  whites  is  good,  let  us  drink  long  draughts  of  it ; 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  l/oUVEUTURE. 


G4i; 


let  us  swear  against  them  an  implacable  hatred — no  peace  witli 
them — I  swear  it/ 

I'niissaint  joined  the  insurrection  as  a  pliysician.  As  he  could 
read  and  write,  and  knew  the  virtues  of  many  plants,  and  was 
known  fur  his  moderation  in  all  things,  Toussaint  gained  inflii- 
enct*  and  position  among  the  insurgents,  without  ever  sullying 
himself  by  murder  or  jnllage.  He  was  a  sort  of  (fi de-de-camp 
and  cJtef-de-hvreaii  to  Biassou.  The  discipline  of  the  army  was 
just  the  disci|>line  of  the  plantations  applied  to  militaiy  adairs. 
Cattle  stealers  were  hanged.  A  sentinel  caught  asleep  received 
fifty  lashes  during  eight  days,  was  passed  under  the  Hag,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  eight  days  was  beheaded. 

When  the  insurgent  slaves  obtained  possession  of  Dondon,  the 
native  place  of  Vincent  Oge,  they  revenged  him  terribl3\  The 
whites,  with  four  cannons,  defended  themselves  behind  their  bar- 
ncadt^s  and  in  the  church  until  nearly  all  the  men  were  killed. 
As  tiie  slaves  became  masters  of  the  houses,  they  committed  the 
worst  and  wildest  excesses  of  murder  and  pillage,  and  gave  them¬ 
selves  up  to  the  dances  of  the  bamboida  until  they  succumbed  from 
fatigue  and  th  ink.  Jeannot  having  made  thirty  whites  piisoners, 
pretended  t«»  tiy  them,  to  enjoy  the  cruel  tortures  of  mockery 
and  irony  which  he  could  inflict  upon  them  prior  to  executing 
them.  If  any  one  enraged  him  he  would  discharge  his  pistols  at 
him.  He  caused  his  coachman,  who  was  his  relative  and  friend, 
to  be  shot  for  1>eing  a  few  minutes  behind  time.  His  camp  was 
planted  with  gibbets. 

In  athlilion  to  their  cruelties,  the  insurgent  chiefs  distinguished 
themselves  l>y  their  vain-glorious  puerilities.  Jean -Fra n^*ois 
calleil  himself  generalissimo,  and  then  king,  and  then  viceroy. 
Their  com]>anies  had  aristocratic  titles — the  dragoons  of  Coiule 
—  the  dragoons  of  d'Estaing ;  they  called  themselves  gevs  dw 
Vitl — the  king’s  men — and  around  their  immense  white  cockades 
was  the  motto — Vive  le  roi ;  of  course  their  flag  was  the  white 
om*  of  the  Bourbons.  The  traditions  of  Guinea  made  the  slaves 
full  of  sym]»athy  for  Louis  XVI.,  who,  they  |>ersuaded  them¬ 
selves.  was  their  }>articular  frieml,  and  while  claiming  their  own 
tMnaucl[Kition,  they  were  afHicted  by  the  recital  of  the  sullerings 
of  nyalty  in  Pari.s. 

t>f  ourse,  in  cruelties  as  in  vanities,  the  slaves  were  like  theii* 
masters,  and  the  masters  like  the  slaves.  In  revolutionary  strifes, 
the  language  of  both  parties  is  often  that  of  Sliylock — ‘The 
villany  you  teach  me  I  will  execute,  and  it  shall  go  hard  it  I  do 
not  better  the  instruction.'  The  i)lanters  seized,  upon  the  evening 
of  the  insuiTection,  seventeim  men  of  colour,  and  hanged  them 
without  trial.  The  jdanters  erected  live  gibbets,  which  they  kept 
in  constant  use  in  executing  the  sentences  of  unc  cour  prevoialc 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L*OUVERTURE. 


647 


upon  any  one,  black  or  yellow,  who  was  denounced  by  fear  or 
susi)icion. 

According  to  the  narrative  of  Saint  Reiny,  however,  the 
slaves,  notwithstanding  the  detestal)le  forms  of  their  excesses,  were 
more  moderate  and  reasonable  than  their  masters.  Jean-Fran- 
<;ois  caused  his  lieutenant,  Jeannot,  to  be  tried  and  put  to  death 
for  his  cruelties.  When  a  commission  arrived  from  Paris  to 
eftect  a  reconciliation  in  the  name  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
king,  the  chiefs  of  tlie  slaves  only  bargained  for  their  own 
emancipation.  Jean-Fran(;ois  was  for  peace  if  three  hundred  of 
the  insurgents  were  made  free ;  Toussaint  reduced  the  number 
to  tifty;  and  Jean-Franc^ois,  Biassou,  Manzeau,  Desprez,  and 
Toussaint,  signed  a  letter  offering  to  lay  down  their  arms  if 
liberty  was  conceded  to  the  leaders  only,  and  to  induce  the  mass 
of  the  slaves  to  return  to  slavery  upon  the  plantations.  Two 
free  men  of  colour  were  found  courageous  enough  to  brave  the 
gibbets  of  tlie  colonists,  and  go  with  the  letter  to  Cap('  Town. 
They  were  well  received  by  the  Royal  Conimis.sioners,  but  the 
Colonial  Assembly  made  them  wait  ten  days  for  an  answer,  and 
then  they  were  called  to  the  bar,  and  addressed  as  follows: — 

‘  Emissaries  of  the  revolted  negroes, — von  sliall  hear  the  inten- 
tions  of  the  Colonial  Assembly.  The  Assembly  being  founded 
upon  the  law,  and  by  the  law,  cannot  corresj>ond  with  persons 
armed  against  the  law'  and  all  law’s.  The  Assembly  can  pardon 
the  guilty  when  they  are  penitent,  and  return  to  their  duty.  It 
will  willingly  recognise  those  who  liave  been  entrapped  against 
their  will.  It  ahvays  knows  how’  to  dispense  goodness  and  justice. 
Withdraw’ ! — Reiirez-vous  !'  When  the  bearers  of  this  message 
returned  with  it  to  the  cam})  of  the  insurgents,  Biassou  ordered 
aU  the  w’hite  })risoners  he  had  to  be  ])ut  to  death.  Toussaint 
and  Frani;uis  Laiitte,  his  friend,  interceded  for  them  and  })ro- 
tected  them.  On  another  occasion,  when  a  ])roclamation  of  the 
Assembly  was  read  to  the  insurgent  army,  a  ciy  W'as  rais(xl  by 
their  universal  indignation  for  tlie  death  of  the  prisoners. 
Toussaint  seized  the  jiroclamation,  re-read  it,  commented  upon  it, 
softened  its  harshness,  and  a})})ealing  to  tlie  sentiments  of  jieaco, 
order,  and  kindness  in  the  hearts  of  his  hearers,  changed  the 
cries  of  vengeance  into  tears.  Many  similar  acts  are  ascribed  to 
him  and  Latitte.  Much  as  the  re})ly  of  the  Assiunbly  had 
enraged  the  negroes,  they  acceded  to  the  nxpie.st  of  the  Com¬ 
missioners,  amj  agreed  to  a  conference.  This  conference  took 
place  on  the  -1st  December,  1701.  Among  the  delegates  of 
the  Assembly  w’as  M.  Bullet,  who  had  bemi  the  master  of  the 
cruel  and  atrocious  Jeannot;  and  his  conduct  on  this  occasion 
seems  to  }U’ove  that  the  villanies  of  the  slave  had  been  taught 
by  the  master.  When  Jean-Francois,  the  insurgent  general, 


648 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  l'OUVERTITRE. 


was  dismounting  from  his  horse,  having  arrived  at  the  head  of  a 
numerous  body  of  cavalr}’,  M.  Bullet  approached  him,  and  sud¬ 
denly  gave  him  a  lash  wdth  his  riding-whip.  Jean-Fran(;ois, 
with  his  cavalry,  could  have  revenged  himself  by  putting  to 
death  the  handful  of  whites  upon  the  spot,  but  he  contented 
himself  with  retiring  from  the  scene.  He  was  followed  by  the 
Royal  Commissioner,  Saint  Leger,  >vho  apologized  for  the  brutal 
insult,  and  his  courage  and  confidence  inspired  them  with  such 
respect,  that  the  insurgents  knelt  down  before  him  in  sign  of 
their  devotion  to  the  king  and  the  law.  Terms  of  peace  were 
arranged,  upon  the  conditions  of  an  exchange  of  prisoners,  fifty 
emancipations,  and  the  return  of  the  rest  of  the  slaves  to  their 
slavery.  Jean-Fran(;ois  stijmlated  that  his  wife,  who  was  in  the 
prison  of  Cape  Town,  should  be  restored  to  him.  Next  morning 
he  sent  Toussaint  and  Lafitto  with  the  prisoners,  but  his  wife  was 
not  returned  to  him. 

A  circumstance  had  occurred  wdrich  profoundly  affected  the 
minds  of  the  negroes,  and  showed  them  that  even  were  they  to 
fight  for  their  masters,  they  w  ould  have  no  security  for  good  treat¬ 
ment.  A  body  of  blacks  and  mulattoes  w^ere  enrolled  by  the 
colonists  in  imitation  of  the  Royal  Swiss  Guards,  and  they 
rendered  their  masters  good  service,  and  w  ere  not  guilty  of  any 
overt  act  of  insubordination.  But  they  were  suspected  of  being 
more  attached  to  the  revolution  than  to  the  counter-revolution, 
and  their  deportation  w\as  deemed  politic  and  necessary.  They 
were  embarked  in  unseaw’orthy  vessels,  some  were  wrecked,  and 
the  greater  number  w^ere  thrown  upon  the  coast  of  Jamaica,  to 
succeed  or  perish  as  it  might  happen  to  them.  Their  fate  made 
a  profound  impression  upon  Toussaint  and  the  moderate  chiefs 
of  the  insurrection. 

Hostilities  recommenced.  On  the  15th  January,  Jean-Fran- 
<;ois,  w  hose  wife  h«ad  not  been  returned  to  him,  took  Oiianamintlie; 
and  on  the  night  of  the  2:^nd,  Biassou,  wdiose  mother  had  not 
been  emancipated,  surrounded  the  village  of  Haut-du-t\\p,  killed 
the  sick  in  the  hosjdtals  of  Ija  Providence,  surprised  the  battery 
of  Beliter,  and  turned  its  cannons  upon  Cape  Town.  The  colonists 
aw'oke  to  find  their  streets  a  dreadful  scene  of  fire  and  carnage ; 
and  when  at  daybreak,  those  who  had  been  able  to  meet 
together,  went  to  combat  him,  he  was  already  off  to  the  negro 
camj>  at  Galiftbt,  carrying  his  old  mother  with  him  as  a  trophy 
torn  from  the  irons  of  slavery. 

AVhen  Toussaint  saw'  all  hopes  of  peace  vanish,  he  wept.  His 
position  was  that  of  principal  aide-de-camp  and  secretary  to 
Biasson.  His  intellectual  superiority  and  moral  integiity  were 
oftensive  to  the  amour  propre  of  Jean-Fran^ois.  How  ever^  he 
was  slowly  gaining  the  esteem  of  the  army,  and  the  two  chiefs 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  l'oUVERTURE. 


649 


were  losing  it  by  their  rapacity,  ostentation,  and  crimes.  They 
divided  the  command  and  the  conquered  territory  between  them; 
they  called  their  residences,  palaces,  and  affected  royal  pomp  and 
style ;  and  to  the  shame  of  human  nature  be  it  recorded,  these 
slaves,  become  powerful,  sold  their  fellows  as  slaves  to  the 
Spaniards  of  Havanah.  Aloof  from  all  the  atrocities  and  crimes 
of  the  insurrection,  Toussaint  was  equally  a  stranger  to  the 
vanities  and  venalities  of  his  superiors  in  command.  His  func¬ 
tions  were  medical  and  civil,  and  his  influence  was  exercised  on 
the  side  of  moderation  and  humanity. 

Toussaint’s  first  atiairs  of  a  military  kind  were  defeats.  He 
happened  to  be  at  the  camp  of  La  Tannerie  w  hen  it  Wiis  attacked 
by  D’Assas,  at  the  head  of  his  regiment.  Toussaint  and  his  men 
defended  themselves  with  rare  intrepidity,  but  the  severity  of 
their  losses  compelled  them  to  retire.  Soon  after,  the  French 
troo[)s  w^ere  led  against  tlie  negroes  by  generals  full  of  tlie  fire 
of  the  Revolution,  and  Jean-Fran(;ois  was  driven  out  of  the  flat 
country  into  the  mountains.  At  La  Tannerie,  which  was  con¬ 
sidered  the  l)ulwark  of  the  insurrection,  Biassou  and  Toussaint 
offered  an  obstinate  resistance,  in  a  position  which  w^as  powerfully 
fortified,  but  were  force<l  to  fly,  leaving  ten  camps  and  fifteen 
pieces  of  artillery  behind  them. 

The  death  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  the  outbreak  of  the  general  war, 
changed  remarkably  the  aspect  of  affairs.  The  })rinci})al  colonists 
offered  Saint  Domingo  to  the  English.  The  negro  insurgents 
entered  into  the  service  of  the  King  of  Spain,  and  Toussiiint,  as 
general  of  the  royal  army,  and  Biassou,  as  governor-general,  issued 
a  ]»roclamation,  in  w’liich  tliey  sw^ore  to  slied  the  last  drop  of 
their  blood  in  defence  of  the  Bourbons.  Defection  s[)rcad  in  the 
armies  which  had  victoriously  attacked  the  negroes,  and  places 
were  given  up  to  them  from  which  they  had  been  driven.  Aided 
more  by  the  uncertainty  of  aff’airs,  and  vacillation  of  opinions, 
than  by  their  military  merits,  the  negro  chiefs  regained  most  of 
the  sw\ay  they  had  lost  in  the  island.  Three  Hags  contested  the 
pos.session  of  it,  the  English,  Spanish,  and  French,  and  the 
whites,  mulattoes,  and  blacks  displayed  four  different  cockades, 
the  w'hito,  the  black,  the  red,  and  the  tricolor.  Jean-Fran(;ois, 
jealous  of  the  iiiHuence  Toussaint  had  gained  in  the  district  under 
him,  picked  a  (piarrel  with  him  and  arrested  him,  but  Biassou 
attacked  the  prison  and  liberated  him.  The  restoration  of  slavery 
became  as  openly  an  avowed  object  of  the  Spaniards  in  the 
island  as  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy  ;  and  when  the  French 
Convention  proclaimed  the  principles  of  universal  emancipation, 
Toussaint  found  himself,  by  the  consequences  of  his  position,  in 


Ills  race. 


650 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  l/OUVERTURE. 


Ton ssaint,  after  secretly  preparing  Lis  measures,  passed  over, 
with  all  liis  men  and  influence,  from  the  Spanish  to  the  French 
service.  Tlie  slaves  rallied  to  the  side  of  the  cap  of  liberty.  We 
have  seen  this  exti*aordinary  man  in  a  subordinate  position,  we 
shall  now  see  him  acting  by  himself,  and  no  longer  one  of  a 
grou]>,  but  as  a  separate  flgure.  A  most  decisive  proof  that  he 
acted  as  a  restraining  influence  upon  his  former  associates,  is 
found  in  the  fact,  that  after  he  left  them,  their  atrocities  sur¬ 
passed  all  previous  precedents.  In  Fort  Dauphin  they  massacred 
seven  hundied  and  thirty-four  French  in  one  night.  The  signal 
for  this  colonial  St.  Bartholomew  was  given  by  Vasquez,  the  cure 
of  Axabon. 

When  he  went  over  to  the  side  of  the  French  Republic,  Tous- 
saint  served  without  any  rank,  although  in  command  of  consider¬ 
able  troops  and  an  extensive  district  of  country.  Biassou  altered 
several  posts  wliich  Toussaint  had  arranged,  and  Toussaint  seized 
the  occasion  to  replace  them,  and  surround  Biassou  in  his  camp 
at  Lariviere  ;  and  the  general  had  great  difliculty  in  escaping 
from  his  aide-de-camp.  Toussaint  proclaimed  equal  liberty  for 
all  in  eveiy  ]dace  under  his  authority,  at  Gonaives,  Gros-Monie, 
Canton  d'Kunery,  Plaisance,  Marmalade,  Dondon,  Acul,  aud 
Limbe,  while  ]>ulliug  down  the  Spanish,  and  unfurling  the  French 
flag.  (Jamp  Bertin,  Port  Margot,  and  all  the  posts  of  La  Mon¬ 
tague  Noire,  were  quickly  taken  by  Tous.saint  from  Jean-Fraii(;ois. 
The  Pont  <le  I’Ester,  La  Petite  Riviere, St.  Raphael,  and  St.  Michel 
followed — successes  which  the  French  general  Laveaux  decorated 
by  sending  him  a  grenadier’s  feather,  w  hich  he  wore  ever  after. 

'J'oussaint,  it  is  W’orth  remarking  by  the  w’ay,  could  not  have 
rendered  the  services  he  did  to  the  French  Republic  if  he  had 
not  become  a  tirst-rate  horseman  in  his  boyhood.  His  life  was 
for  some  time  that  of  a  centaur.  The  English,  who  had  taken 
Port-au-Prince,  and  advanced  across  the  river  Artibonite,  were 
surprised  in  an  ambuscade  at  Le  Haut-des-Verettes,  and  their 
chief  w’as  killed.  Prior  to  returning  to  Gonaives,  it  was  deemed 
a  trait  of  character — notable  in  Toussaint — that  he  ordered  money 
and  brea<.l  to  be  given  to  all  the  needy  women  and  children,  ot 
all  colours,  w  hom  he  found  at  La  Petite  Riviere.  In  four  days 
he  took  and  erased  twenty-eight  camps,  one  of  these,  Bamby, 
situated  upon  a  frightful  ridge,  and  defended  by  three  cannons, 
be.sides  musquetry.  The  cordon  he  had  to  defend  was  ninety 
miles  long,  and  Toussaint  could  not  aflord  to  be  absent  from  any 
point  w  hich  was  threatened.  M.  Saint  Remy,  besides  giving  him 
the  credit  of  defeating  Colonel  Brisbane,  says  he  forced  a  party  ot 
English,  who  had  disembarked  at  Guildive,  to  re-embark  wdth  dis¬ 
order.  It  W'as  on  this  occasion  that  Colonel  Brisbane  was  killed. 

Toussaint  organized  his  troops  in  four  regiments,  making  8000 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L'OUVERTURE. 


G51 


men.  An  account  of  the  divers  fortunes  of  the  rival  Gaffs  and 
conflicting  cockades  woidd  extend  this  article  beyond  our  space, 
and  turn  it  aside  from  its  object,  which  is  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of 
the  true  character  of  Toussaint.  Following,  then,  his  fortunes, 
we  find  him  three  times  unsuccessfully  attacking  Saint  Marc, 
but,  after  retiring  from  it,  taking  Le  Mirebalais,  which  commands 
the  interior  of  the  island.  However,  the  English,  whom  M.  Saint 
Et*niy  describes  as  ‘a  people  whose  every  idea  is  a  combination, 
and  whose  everv  act  is  a  calculation/  drove  his  brother  out  of  it 
scKui  after.  Toussaint  was  afflicted  to  find  that  the  pei-sons  who 
had  assisted  the  English  were  |)ersons  who  had  sworn  Gdelity  to 
the  rej)ublic.  He  rarely  made  a  promise,  but  if  repeated  suppli¬ 
cations  ever  led  him  to  pass  his  word,  he  kept  it  religiously,  and 
would  rather  have  been  put  to  death,  he  said,  than  be  reproached 
for  jHajury. 

Jean-Francois  had  surpiised  Colonel  Moyse  in  Dondon,  and 
driven  him  and  his  grenadiers  out  of  it,  when  Toussaint  heard 
the  sound  of  the  conflict,  and  at  the  head  of  fifty  dragoons 
rushed  to  the  rescue,  rallied  the  routed  troops,  who  were  dis¬ 
charging  stones  for  want  of  balls,  drove  Jean-Francois  out  of 
the  village,  dislodged  him  from  the  fort,  and  cha.sed  him  to 
PKous  dt‘s  Roches.  The  Spanish  forces  never  afterwards  attacked 
the  French,  and  peace  was  soon  afterwards  established  between 
S[)ain  and  France.  The  French  Convention  decreed,  on  hearing 
the  nows,  that  the  army  of  Saint  Domingo  had  deserved  w'ell  of 
the  country.  Laveaux  was  made  a  general  of  division,  and,  with 
others,  Rigaufl,  a  mulatto,  and  Toussaint,  a  negro,  were  named 
generals  of  briga<le.  The  generals  appointed  a  deputation,  con¬ 
sisting  of  a  white,  a  black,  and  a  mulatto,  to  go  to  Piiris  and 
thank  the  Convention,  and  show  the  brotherly  unity  of  the  three 
colours,  ‘  white,  yellow,  and  black.’ 

The  Spanish  flag  thus  disposed  of,  the  English  remained. 
Rignud  is  said  to  have  dispossessed  them  of  Tiburon,  and 
destroyed  a  corvette,  called  the  Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  Toussaint, 
besides  retaining  this  district,  extended  it,  and  fortified  its  frontiers. 
Toussaint  caus(*d  Dieudonnd,  .suspected  of  favouring  the  Plnglish, 
to  be  arrested  by  his  own  men,  and  he  was  impri.soned  and  ])ut  to 
death.  General  Bowyer  and  Admiral  Parker  having  attacked 
Leogane,  are  tlescrilxMl  in  the  work  before  us  as  having  been 
driven  ofl'by  T)e.sniisseaux. 

J.aveaux,  the  governor  of  the  island,  having  attempted  to 
enforce  the  circulation  of  ])a})or  money,  the  merchants  at  Cape 
Town  were  panic  stricken,  and  a  mob  seized  the  governor  in  his 
bedroom,  struck  him  with  a  stick,  and  hurried  liim  off  to  prison. 
Villnte,  the  general  upon  the  si)ot,  from  personal  spite,  did  not 
protect  the  governor-general,  and  even  acce[)ted  the  dicUitorship 


i 


652 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L'OUVERTURE. 


of  tlie  iiisuirection.  Tlie  officer  sent  to  him  started  off  to 
Toussaint,  who  hastened  to  the  succour  of  the  outraged  rtipre- 
sentativeof  France  at  the  head  of  two  battalions  and  two  hundred 
cavalry.  But  the  insurgents,  \vho  were  almost  exclusively  nui- 
lattoes,  had  become  ashamed  of  their  success,  and  the  governor 
was  relieved  from  restraint.  He  received  Toussaint,  nevertheless, 
W'ith  joy,  and  appointed  him  commander-in-chief  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours.  At  the  news  of  the  nomination  of  an  old  black 
slave  to  this  high  command,  the  mulatto  farmers  seized  the 
harritre  Saint  Michel.  Toussaint  put  them  down,  and  was  cele¬ 
brated  by  Laveaux  as  the  man  predicted  by  the  Abbd  Baynal 
as  destined  to  redress  the  wrongs  of  the  negroes.  Toussaint 
re-entered  Cape  Town  by  the  side  of  the  governor-general,  as 
the  lieutenant-general  of  Saint  Domingo.  Deep  was  the  indig¬ 
nation  of  the  mulattoes  at  seeing  a  blackamoor  raised  to  such 
dignity.  The  municipal  body  went  so  far  as  to  refuse  to  register 
the  appointment. 

The  distractions  of  France  leaving  the  island  almost  without 
control,  the  mulattoes  and  ancient  free  blacks  thought  they  ought 
to  bear  the  sway.  But  they  were  justly  suspected  by  the  Vdacks 
of  intending  to  restore  slavery,  and  by  the  whites,  or  French, 
of  desiring  to  set  up  their  own  independence.  Laveaux,  having 
chosen  to  accept  a  seat  in  the  corps  Icgislatif,  left  the  island  for 
Paris  upon  the  19th  of  October,  1796,  leaving  Toussaint  as 
coininander-in-chief.  The  Directory  had  sent  him  the  rank  of  a 
general  of  division,  with  a  sabre  and  a  pair  of  pistols. 

The  first  memorable  act  of  the  new^  general  of  division  was  to 
dislodge  the  English  from  Mirebalais.  Upon  his  arrival’ with  a 
force  tliey  could  not  resist,  they  blew  up  the  blockhouse,  set  lire 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  town,  and  retired,  leaving  him  free  to 
occupy  the  ruins  and  ashes.  He  is  said  to  have  repulsed  them 
subseipiently  u[)on  the  Plain  of  Cid~(lc~sac,  and  taken  two  hundred 
prisoners,  consisting  of  English,  German,  and  French  emigrants. 

if  any  young  man  should  regard  with  a  longing  eye  the 
advancement  of  poor  Straw-Stalk,  the  slave  herdboy,  we  recom¬ 
mend  him  to  look  w’ell  to  the  realities  of  his  brilliant  position, 
and  mark  the  sequel.  He  had  the  English  to  combat  him  ;  the 
mulattoes  jealous  of  him ;  and  the  home  government  suspicious 
of  his  inliuence.  Sonthonax,  a  commissioner  sent  from  Paris, 
hinted  to  him  that  the  island  was  strong  enough  to  proclaim  its 
independence.  Most  probably  seeing  a  trap  in  the  proposal, 
Toussaint  denounced  it,  and  ordered  him  to  embark  for  France, 
to  answer  for  his  conduct.  Sonthonax  refused  to  obey,  although 
requested  by  his  colleague  Raymond,  and  Toussaint  sent  him 
word  that  if  he  did  not  embark,  he  would  enter  Cape  Town  at 
the  head  of  20,000  men.  At  midnight  of  the  2nd  and  3rd  of 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L’OUVEIITUUE. 


653 


September  the  cannons  of  Toussaint  announced  his  arrival  out¬ 
side  the  town,  and  at  six  o’clock  in  the  morning  Sonthonax 
passed  through  a  silent  crowd  in  the  streets  on  his  way  to  the 
ship  without  receiving  a  salutation  from  any  one.  ‘  Fatras  Baton* 
was  ill  tlie  most  real  sense  of  the  title  king  of  Saint  Domingo. 

T1  le  Directory  saw  this  fact,  and  they  were  afraid  of  a  man 
whoso  sway  was  so  vast.  General  Ilddouville  was  sent  out  with 
the  high  powers  of  a  pacificator.  His  secret  orders  seem  to  have 
beeirto  cajole  Toussaint  L’Ouverture,  the  chief  of  the  blacks,  to 
visit  France,  and,  if  necessary,  to  arrest  Rigaud,  the  chief  of  the 
mulattoes.  Hddouville  received  both  with  magnificence,  but 
Toussaint  kept  himself  upon  his  guard  and  aloof.  Fabre,  who 
commanded  the  scjuadron  which  brought  Iledouville,  said  one 
day,  ‘  I  shall  have  as  much  pleasure,  general,  in  taking  you  to 
France,  as  I  have  had  in  bringing  General  Hddouville  here ; — 
there  you  will  find  the  lionours  and  rewards  due  to  your  services, 
and  all  the  pleasures  of  repose  which  you  need.’  The  reply  was, 

‘  Your  ship  is  not  big  enough  for  a  man  like  me.’  On  another 
occasion,  one  of  Ht^douville’s  ofticers,  after  boasting  of  the  wonders 
of  France,  invited  him  to  make  the  voyage.  ’Poussaint,  casting 
liis  eyes  and  laying  his  hand  u})on  a  shrub,  answered,  ‘  Y(^s,  1 
shall  leave  when  you  make  of  this  a  ship  to  carry  me.’  A  fete 
was  prepared  for  him  on  board  the  squadron,  but  he  declineil  it, 
and  returned  to  his  camp  at  Gonaives  upon  pretext  of  military 
service. 

T1  le  English  arranged  preliminaries  of  peace  with  Toussaint. 
The  emigrants  and  their  property  were  to  be  respected ;  and  the 
English  were  to  carry  away  their  artillery  and  munitions  of  war 
and  all  the  cannons  they  had  taken.  M.  Saint  Remy  thinks  the 
English  did  not  give  up  the  ‘  Mole,’  which  he  calls  the  ‘Gibraltar 
of  the  New  World,’  until  they  were  tolerably  sure  that  Toussaint 
would  keep  it  for  them.  Hddouville  was  discontented  with  tlie 
terms  accepted  by  Tous.saint,  especially  in  regard  to  the  emi¬ 
grants,  and  posted  up  a  jdacard,  which  applied  the  laws  of  the 
Jacobins  towards  them  ;  upon  seeing  which.  Captain  Maitland 
tore  up  publicly  both  the  treaty  and  the  proclamation.  H(5dou- 
ville  was  forced  to  authorize  Toussaint  to  make  another  of  similar 
tenour.  Toussaint  entered  the  JMole  at  the  head  of  his  army,  while 
the  white  ladies  of  the  town  strewed  with  flowTrs  the  path  of 
their  protector  and  benefactor ;  the  priest  at  the  head  of  his 
Hock,  and  Captain  Maitland  and  the  British  officers  lieaped 
honours  upon  him.  He  received  a  magnificent  service  of  plate  ; 
and  the  Government  House,  described  as  an  elegant  palace,  was 
presented  to  him  in  the  name  of  the  King  of  England.  8ix 
thousand  British  troops  were  reviewed  before  him.  He  remarked 
that  ‘  the  Republic  had  never  rendered  him  such  honours  as  he 


■li^WWPIP.I  .'UW,' 


654 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L*OU\"EIlTURE. 


had  received  from  England  !’  Although  no  proofs  exist  of  the 
ass<3rtiou,  Saint  Reiuy  will  have  it  that  England  came  to  an 
understanding  with  him  to  recognise  him  as  King  of  Saint 
Domingo !  So  much  for  Fratras  Baton.  ‘  Never  despise  a 
rough  colt  nor  a  ragged  callant'  (boy),  said  a  dealer  in  Shetland 
ponies  one  day,  ‘  for  ye  dinna  ken  what  he  may  be.' 

The  protection  which  Toussaint  accorded  to  the  emigrants,  and 
his  good  understanding  wdth  the  English  and  Americans,  caused 
Hedouville  to  accuse  him  of  placing  the  island  under  the  protec¬ 
tion  of  England.  The  treaties  which  Toussaint  made  with  thest* 
countries  exist.  There  is  no  mention  of  independence  in  them. 
They  are  merely  commercial  treaties  to  secure  the  needful 
imports  with  which  France  did  not  and  could  not  su))ply  tht‘ 
Inhabitants.  A  suspicion  that  Ht^douville,  the  whites,  and  niulat- 
toes  intended  to  restore  slavery,  caused  a  negro  insurrection. 
Hedouville  finding  that  Toussaint  was  in  no  hurry  to  come  to 
succour  him,  departed  in  the  night,  of  course  leaving  a  ]>rocla- 
mation,  in  which  he  declared  that  the  English  had  only  made  a 
show  of  retiring,  having  postponed  the  project  of  indej>endence. 
Toussaint  L’Ouverture  sent  Colonel  Vincent  to  Paris  to  meet  the. 
accusations  made  against  him,  and  his  conduct  was  ap})roved  of 
by  the  Directory. 

No  rival  tlag  now  ostensibly  disputed  the  jiossession  of  the 
island  with  the  French,  and  all  the  cockades  had  given  way 
before  the  tricolor.  Toussaint  had  made  an  opening  or  ouverture 
everywhere;  yet  we  enter  upon  the  bloodiest  and  blackest  ]>age 
of  his  history.  The  chief  of  the  blacks  had  to  conquer  tht‘ 
mulattoes  or  yellows.  They  had  the  blood  of  the  whites  in  their 
veins,  they  had  been  long  free,  they  were  superior  in  wealth  arul 
intelligence,  and  led  by  General  Iligaud,  they  attacked  one  of  the 
outposts  of  the  army  of  the  commander-in-chief.  To  them  it 
seemed  a  foul  degradation  to  be  governed  bv  a  negro,  but  ves> 
terday  a  slave.  Roumc,  the  new  agent  of  France,  supjKuted 
Toussiiint  with  the  whole  authority  of  the  Directory  against  the 
mulatto  rebellion.  Rigaud  began  to  show’  the  cloven  foot  bv 
refusing  to  give  up  the  places  mentioned  to  him  by  Rounie,  the 
represenUitive  of  France. 

Toussaint  made  this  war  like  a  military  O’Connell  or  Crom¬ 
well,  by  harangues  and  religious  discourses  as  w’ell  as  the  sw<ucl. 
Rigaud  and  the  mulattoes  were  in  every  w’ay  in  the  wrong. 
Toussaint  was  the  superior  in  command,  and  supported  by  the 
authority  of  Roum^,  wdio  represented  the  French  governnn  nt  ; 
and  yet  Rigaud  attacked  Toussaint.  Nothing  was  alleged  to 
justify  the  attack,  except  that  Toussaint  was  ambitioas,  which 
was  only  said  because  it  was  impolitic  to  say  he  was  black.  But 
Toussaint  charged  the  mulattoes  justly  with  the  prejudices  ot 


I 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  LOUVERTURE.  UOD 

colour,  cT-nd  with  designs  for  the  restoration  of  slavery.  The  old 
officers  of  the  first  negro  insurrection,  Biassou  and  others,  re¬ 
mained  in  tlie  Spanish  part  of  the  island,  and  carried  on  an 
infamous  tratfic  in  kidnapping  and  selling  their  brethren  into 
slavery.  Toussaint  demanded  the  authorization  of  the  French 
agents  to  suppress  this  infamy,  and  found  liis  intluence  paralyzed 
l)y  the  intrigues  of  the  mulattoes ;  and  when  an  agent  appeared 
who  agreed  with  Toussaint,  and  gave  him  what  he  wanted,  the 
mulattoes  attacked  him. 

On  the  2 1st  of  February,  1799,  Toussaint  caused  the  alarm 
drums  to  be  beaten  in  the  morning,  and  denounced  the  conspiracy 
of  the  yellows  or  nudattoes  in  the  church  at  Cayes.  He  rec;dled 
to  mind  how  the  blacks  called  ‘  Swiss'  had  been  got  rid  of,  and 
described  in  the  strongest  colours  the  hatred  of  the  yellows  to  the 
blacks.  An  incident  occurred  which  seemed  to  justify  his  worst 
accusations.  Twenty-nine  blacks  were  im[)risoned  in  a  new 
dungeon,  the  lime  of  which  w'as  not  dry,  and  were  of  course 
asphyxied.  Toussaint  said  ‘  it  w^as  strange  that  in  all  the  move¬ 
ments  the  blacks  were  always  the  victims.'  Blacks,  by  an  obvious 
tactic,  were  put  forward  in  the  movement  of  the  yellows,  and  the 
life  of  Toussaint  seems  to  have  been  a  special  object  of  the  insur¬ 
gents.  On  one  occasion,  when  passing  through  a  wood,  an  am¬ 
bush  opened  fire  upon  him,  and  killed  his  physician  by  his  side, 
while  half  the  plume  in  his  hat  was  shot  ofr.  What  the  truth  is 
in  regard  to  the  manner  in  which  Toussaint  suppressed  this 
rebellion,  we  have  not  the  means  of  knowing.  M.  Saint  llerny 
would  have  us  believe  that  he  became  cruel,  or,  in  other  words, 
ceased  to  be  himself,  as  shown  by  the  tenour  of  his  life.  The 
struggle  was  the  most  formidable  he  ever  had,  and  lie  triumphed 
by  the  rapidity,  skill,  and  severity  of  his  blows.  With  regard  to 
the  complaints  of  the  mulattoes  against  bim,  they  are  open  to 
the  reply  we  once  heard  given  to  the  late  ^Ir.  O'Connell,  when 
denouncing  Cromwell  for  his  conduct  to  the  Irish — ‘  If  you  did 
not  like  what  you  got  by  it,  there  is  the  more  pity  you  began  it.' 

The  object  of  Toussaint  was  the  suppression  of  the  slave  trade 
in  the  east  of  the  island  Whether  it  was  that  he  had  become 
jeakuis  of  the  absolute  sway  gained  by  the  suppression  of  the 
yellows,  or  that  he  knew  the  home  government  were  not  sincere 
enemies  of  the  slave  trade,  the  agent  Roumd  refused  Toussaint 
the  authorization  he  had  sought  long  and  fought  hard  for — to 
take  possession  of  the  east  He  alleged  that  it  was  to  be  given 
by  Spain  to  France,  in  exchange  for  Louisiana;  obviously  a 
frivolous  pretext  to  screen  an  infamous  abuse.  France  laid  no 
right  to  sell  the  thews  and  sinews  of  free  negroes,  (\jlonel 
^loy.se  arrested  Rourad  ‘^od  told  him  that  if  he  did  not  yield, 
the  whites  might  sutler  for  it ;  and  Rouni^  gave  way. 


-r  I  I  ’  I  .•  ' 


65G 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L'OUVERTURE. 


Triumphant  in  the  memorable  ‘war  to  the  knives/  or  guerre 
(hs  coutcavXy  Toiissaint  L'Ouvertureused  his  victory,  even  by  the 
admission  of  M.  Saint  llemy,  whose  sympathies  are  on  the  side 
of  tlie  mulattoes,  with  surprising  moderation.  He  proclaimed 
a  general  amnesty,  and  called  upon  all  the  citizens  to  supj)ort 
order,  union,  and  labour,  and  to  respect  persons  and  property. 
Tlie  subjugation  of  the  Spanish  forces  was  not  a  difficult  matter; 
and  as  he  kept  Roumd  under  surveillance  when  he  had  esta¬ 
blished  his  brother  in  the  government  of  the  Spanish  colony,  his 
power  was  undisputed  from  Cape  Eugano  to  Cape  Tiburon. 

A  Central  Assembly  having  been  convoked,  Toussaint  was 
named  governor  for  life  ;  and  the  following  were  the  principal 
lieads  of  the  constitution  which  was  given  to  the  island  : — That 
slavery  cannot  exist  in  the  colonies,  all  the  men  born  in  it 
living  and  dying  as  free  Frenchmen  ;  that  all,  without  distinction 
of  colour,  shall  ])e  admissible  to  public  employments ;  that  the 
Catholic  religion  ought  to  be  the  sole  professed  and  protected  ; 
that  divorce  is  prohibited  ;  that  agriculture  shall  be  encouraged  ; 
that  the  governor  shall  take  suitable  means  to  increase  the 
number  of  hands  ;  that  commerce  shall  be  free ;  and  that  the 
administration  shall  be  intrusted  to  the  governor. 

Toussaint  having  established  his  constitution  provisionally, 
wrote  to  the  First  Consul  recpiesting  the  sanction  of  the  govern¬ 
ment,  but  Buonaparte  had  not  the  good  manners  to  answer  any  of 
his  letters.  Peace  with  England  having  left  his  hands  free, 
Buona])arte  sent  as  his  reply  an  expedition  of  French  republican 
soldiers  to  re-establish  slavery  in  Saint  Domingo  I  Some  of 
the  obsequious  parasites  he  consulted  in  the  Council  of  State 
urged  him  to  decimate  his  opponents  in  the  colony.  ‘  What  do 
you  think  of  it  V  asked  the  First  Consul  of  Bishop  Grdgoire. 

‘  1  think,'  he  replied,  ‘  that  if  these  gentlemen  W'ere  instantly 
to  grow^  black,  they  would  change  their  language.' 

On  the  20tli  of  May,  1801,  Buonaparte  re-established  slavery 
in  all  the  French  colonies  ;  but  a  pretended  exception  was 
immediately  after  made  in  favour  of  Saint  Domingo  and 
Cua-laloupe.  Toussaint,  how^ever,  w'as  not  deceived,  and  warned 
of  the  preparations  made  against  him,  he  entered  into  a  treaty 
with  Lonl  Nugent,  Governor  of  Jamaica,  to  supply  him  wdth 
arms.  But  he  did  not  delude  himself  respecting  the  result  of 
the  conflict.  In  his  proclamation  to  his  army  he  said  : — ‘I  am 
a  soldier,  and  do  not  fear  man.  I  fear  God  alone  ;  and  if  I 
die,  it  shall  be  like  an  honourable  soldier  who  has  nothing  to 
reproach  himself  with.'  Success  Wi\s  impossible  against  30,000 
troo])s  in  fifty-four  vessels  of  w’ar,  and  Toussaint  was  only  the  chief 
of  tlie  blacks  of  the  colony.  Rigaud  and  many  other  mulatto 
officers  accompanied  the  expedition.  Supposing  it  to  be  granted 


LIFE  OF  TOUSSAINT  L’oUVERTURE. 


G57 

that  ho  coiilil,  with  the  aid  of  the  climate,  liave  destroyed  this 
expHlition,  he  would  only  have  been  guilty  of  much  bloodshed, 
for  Saint  Domingo,  even  when  united,  is  not  a  match  for  France. 
Yet  he  has  been  reproached  for  saying,  on  seeing  the  fleet — ‘  We 
must  })erish  ;  we  are  betrayed ;  all  the  French  have  come  to 
n^venge  themselves  and  enslave  the  blacks.’  He  expected  to  receive 
communications  from  Cleneral  Leclerc,  but  he  received  none,  and 
his  subordinate,  Christophe,  evidently  a  traitor,  made  a  show  of 
resistance  to  the  disembarkation  of  the  French.  Some  obscurity 
rests  upon  the  transactions,  but  two  facts  seem  certain,  that  at 
first  Toussaint  advanced  to  open  communications  with  a  French 
officer,  and  had  his  horse  shot  under  him  ;  and  that  he  wrote  a 
letter  to  his  brother  Paul,  in  which  he  ordered  him  to  fraternize 
with  the  French. 

Toussaint’s  two  children,  who  had  been  in  Paris  for  their 
education,  were  sent  with  the  expedition;  and  Isaac  L’Ouverture 
had  a  verbal  mes.sage  to  his  father  from  Duonaparte  : — ‘  I  promise 
him  protection,  glory,  and  honour.’ 

As  Puona])arte  was  probably  under  the  influence  of  his 
creole  wife,  Josephine,  in  his  conduct,  (General  L(‘clerc  was, 
undoubtedly,  guided  by  the  mulatto  officers,  who  wished  to 
compromise  the  distinguished  representative  and  impersonation 
of  negro  emancipation.  If  the  letters  and  messages  sent  him 
h.ad  been  delivered,  if  General  Leclerc  had  treated  him  courte¬ 
ously,  or  answered  his  letters,  Toussaint  L’Guverture  might  not 
have  been  stung  into  a  conflict  which  had  no  other  use  than  to 
form  a  sort  of  protest  against  the  re-establishment  of  slavery. 
His  old  mulatto  o]4)onent,  Rigaud,  justified  all  that  liad  been 
suspected  of  him  by  appearing  in  the  exj)cdition.  Toussaint 
thus  came  to  understand  the  real  character  of  it,  and  .sending  his 
children  back  to  Leclerc,  made  his  military  protest  against  the 
restoration  of  the  foul  compound  of  robi)ery,  violation,  and 
murder,  euphoniously  called  .slavery.  From  the  wounds  he 
received,  and  the  dangers  he  courted,  it  is  evident  the  old  soldier 
wished  to  .seal  his  protest  with  his  death.  He  searched  for  death 
as  eagerly  as  Buonaparte  fled  from  it  at  Waterloo.  The  desertion 
of  Christoplie  with  1200  men  forced  Toussaint  to  accei)t  the 
terms  offered  him  by  Leclerc  in  a  proclamation — the  oblivion  of 
the  cpiarrel,  the  continuance  of  their  rank  to  all  the  officers,  an<l 
honour  and  protection  to  Toussaint  in  retirement.  When  ho 
arrived  at  Cape  Town,  he  was  received  with  a  salute  of  artillery, 
Leclerc  embraced  liim  publicly,  and  his  guard  was  reviewed  and 

is  retirement,  in  the  valley  of  Ennery,  Tous.saint  could 
scarce  ly  doubt  that  he  was  secure  from  outrage.  Buonaparte  hod 
written  a  letter  to  him  declaring  that  France  owed  the  colony  to 
N.S. — VOL.  VIII.  U  U 


658 


LIFE  OF  TOrSStAIXT  LOUVEKTURE. 


Irim.  He  was  told  to  re^id  as  one  of  the  most  dis- 

tinsruLshetl  citizens  of  the*  Republic.  Paul  L'Oiiverture,  from 
PLusance,  ami  Vernet,  from  Gouaives,  warned  him  of  his  intended 
arrest  ;  but  he  could  not  Wlieve  it.  General  Brunet  sent  him  a 
letter  full  of  French  friendship,  which  in\*ite*d  him  and  his  faiuilv 
to  visit  the  general.  Alihou^li  ill.  Toiussiiint  luiswered  in  ptTson, 
and  was  .surrounded  by  twenty  grenadiers,  and  declartnl  a 
f>risoner.  He  gave  up  his  sword  and  was  garotte,  that  is  to  s;\v, 
bound  with  a  rope  !  Toussaint,  his  wife,  and  children,  after  their 
house  was  pilLaged,  were  embarked  for  France,  without  the 
necessaries  of  life.  On  the  voyage,  he  remarked — ‘  They  have 
only  felled  the  trunk  of  the  tree  of  the  liberty  of  the  blacks  at 
Saint  Domingo,  but  it  will  grow  again,  for  its  roots  are  deep  ;uid 
many.' 

The  Chateau  de  Joux  in  the  Alps  was  selecteil  as  the  prison 
of  Tou.ssaint  L’Ouverture.  Buonaparte  shrunk  fn*m  trying 
and  executing  a  man  who  had  saved  a  colon v,  and  whose  only 
fault  was  to  have  stooil  by  the  rights  conferred  upon  his  race 
by  laws.  A  dungeon  amidst  [Perpetual  snows  was,  howwer, 
assigned  to  this  illustrious  son  of  the  tropics  by  a  man  who  made 
the  etl'ects  of  climate  upon  the  human  frame  hi.s  constant  study. 
The  etfects  of  strychnine  are  not  more  certain  than  those  of  cold. 
The  letters  which  Touss;\int  wrote  to  Buonap;irte  are  pathetic, 
but  high*tonc*il.  Like  a  man  of  honour,  he  ap|)eals  to  the  word 
of  the  captain-general,  ami,  with  a  sort  of  innocent  iistonish- 
ment,  describes  the  rascally  trick  of  Generals  Brunet  and 
Li  clero.  by  which  he  was  made  a  prisoner ;  how*  he  was  hurried 
off  without  other  clothe.s  than  those  he  had  on ;  his  house 
pillaged  and  burnt ;  and  his  wife  and  children  arrested  :  ‘  they 
have  nothing  even  to  clothe  themselves  in.'  ‘Citizen  First  Consul, 
a  mother  of  a  family,  tiftv-three  years  old,  merits  indulgence.  .  .  . 
I  alone  am  responsible.'  ...  In  the  same  strain  he  wrote  to  the 
minister  Deeres.  The  only  reply  was  an  order  to  sepiirate  him 
from  his  family.  Buonajiarte  supposed  that  Toussaint  had  done 
what  he  would  in  like  circumstances  have  done — amassed  im¬ 
mense  treasures — and  his  cruelties  were  intendeil  to  extort  by 
torture  the  secret  of  where  they  were  hidden.  Tlie  great  negro 
had  no  such  secrets,  and  only  wrote  imploring  the  First  Consul  to 
decide  his  fate.  He  was  contident  of  the  result  of  a  just  exami¬ 
nation  of  his  conduct,  because  his  old  blind  father,  still  alive,  had 
shown  him  the  way  of  prol)ity,  and  he  is  urgent,  because  '  grief 
bad  altered  his  health  and  ‘  I  have  claimeil  mv  liberty  of  vou 
that  I  may  be  able  to  w’ork  to  gain  mv  living,  and  nourish  my 
unliappy  family.  His  appeals  had  become  troublesome,  and  a 
response  was  made  to  them  ;  liis  last  faithful  servant  was  with¬ 
drawn  from  attendance  upon  him,  and  he  was  deprived  of  the 


FRONUNCIATION  OF  C.UFliK. 


privilege  of  taking  exercise  iu  the  court  of  the  chateau  !  Con¬ 
sidering  that  Buonaparte  owoil  his  tirst  and  most  ditheult  tnui- 
sition  from  a  Piiris  garret  to  a  [K>siiiou  iu  the  Siviety  of  the 
French  metropolis  to  his  marriage  with  a  gjiy  ricli  cixole  widow, 
there  is  in  this  iissossination  a  cruelty  seldom  matehed  iu  the 
annals  of  crime.  *  Five  franc's  a-dav/  siivs  M.  Saint  Iwmv,  '  were 
allowed  for  eiwh  prisoner.’  Buouaj^iiirte  said  *  thiw  were*  plenty.’ 
Captain  Colomier,  iu  self-vindication,  relateil  that  the  governor 
of  the  castle  made  two  visits  to  Neufcliatel  in  Switzerland  ;  that 
a  c'ast-iron  }x>t  and  a  little  fiU'iniWtH)us  fcK>d  wius  ;ill  that  was  allowed 
toToussaint:  and  that  he  ^Colomier)  gave  him  a  little  coti’tv  ;  that 
upon  the  occasion  of  his  second  visit  to  Neufchatel,  the  governor 
did  not  give  f'olomier  the  keys,  dtvlaring  that  the  prisoners  ilid 
not  need  anvthing :  that  he  remaineil  awav  four  ilavs ;  and  that 
when  he  returned,  Toussaiiit  was  no  more.  Prior  to  announcing 
the  fact,  the  governor  carried  iu  fresh  provisions,  although  his 
hitggard  hice  and  agitated  manner  hi  trayed  what  had  happeiunl. 
The  attitude  of  the  corpse  beside  the  extinct  chimney  told  the 
story  of  the  death.  The  captain  of  the  fort  and  the  mayor  of  the 
canton  refused  to  sav  the  death  was  owing  to  anvthing  else  than 
famine.  Some  medic;d  men,  howewr,  were  found  who  certitied 
it  was  owing  to  serous  apoplexy. 

At  Saint  Helena,  Buonapiu  te  .s;uil — ‘  1  had  no  interest  in  killing 
a  miserable  negro  1’  Buonaparte  and  roussiiint — egotism  and 
heroism  ! —were  similar  in  their  deaths,  in  ;us  far  as  the  riK'k  of 
Jura  resembles  the  rock  of  Saint  Helena  ;  yet  there  was  an 
enormous  ditference  between  them,  for  beside  the  poor  chimney 
of  the  negro  no  tnwes  are  found  of  the  spectral  pre.sence  of 
Remorse  ! 


Akt.  ll. —  The  Tronunciation  of  (hrek ;  Accent  and  Qnantiti/.  A 
Pliilological  Jiupiiry.  l\v  .lnhii  Stuart  Ulaekie,  l*rol’essor  ol 
tiFcvk  ill  the  University  of  Kdinhuigh.  Kdinbupgli :  Suther- 
liuid  Iviiox. 

The  book  which  staiuls  at  the  liead  of  this  article  is  the  work  of 
a  thorough  scholar,  who,,  alter  having  dived  into  ail  the  recesse.H 
of  his  subject,  and  completely  nuustered  it,  luia  sat  down  to  draw 
a  broad  general  sketch  of  the  most  important  arguments  and 
conclusions  he  has  obtained.  It  is  written,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  with  warmth  and  vigour;  and  into  the  clullest  parts  of 
his  task  the  author  has  thrown  a  life  aiul  a  human  interest  w  hich 
are  seldom  wutnessc'd  in  the  productions  ot  learned  men.  The 

U  U  2 


G60 


PRONUNCIATIOX  OF  GREEK. 


book,  we  think,  ^vill  not  be  regarded  as  perfectly  satisfactory  on 
all  the  points  which  it  discusses ;  for  some  of  them  are  merely 
glanced  at :  but  no  student  can  read  it  without  ])rotit,  for  it  gives 
a  vast  deal  of  information  on  subjects  new  to  most,  and  it  suggests 
manv  interesting  and  not  unprofitable  inquiries. 

AVe  agree  with  Professor  Blackie  in  thinking  that  the  present 
time  is  suitable  for  a  consideration  of  the  pronunciation  of  Greek. 
The  increased  facilities  of  locomotion  bring  our  Hellenists  more 
frequently  into  contact  with  foreign  scholars ;  and  then  English¬ 
men  feel  the  disadvantage  of  speaking  Greek  in  such  a  way  that 
none  but  Englishmen  can  understand  them.  Several  books  of 
travel,  recently  published,  have  given  utterance  to  feelings  natu¬ 
rally  arising  in  such  circumstances,  and  have  advocated  a  change. 
There  lias  also  beinm  amongst  us  a  revival  of  a  wider  and  more 
catholic  scholarship,  of  which  the  w'orks  of  Grote  and  Mure  are 
the  first-fruits ;  and  from  those  who  are  animated  with  the  spirit 
of  this  movement,  the  question  of  the  proper  method  of  pro¬ 
nouncing  Greek  will  receive  a  fair  and  thorough  investigation. 
Add  to  thi.s,  that  the  publication  of  a  Modern  Greek  Grammar 
in  London,  by  Corpe,  puts  it  in  the  power  of  the  classical  student 
to  become  acquainted  with  the  present  language  of  the  Greeks 
in  a  few  hours. 

The  methods  of  pronouncing  Greek  are  generally  divided  into 
two  classes, — the  Erasmian  and  the  Reuchlinian,  or  Modern 
Greek.  The  Erasmian  includes  under  it  a  great  variety  of  pro¬ 
nunciations  :  the  English,  with  its  peculiar  sound  of  a,  /,  and  ou; 
the  German,  with  its  oi  sound  of  fu ;  the  Scotch,  and  othei*s. 
The  name  is  not  appropriate,  as  none  of  the  methods  which  it 
embraces  corresponds  to  the  theoretical  notions  propounded  by 
Erasmus,  and  most  of  them  are  purely  arbitrary.  The  Reuch¬ 
linian  is  widely  ditferent  from  all  the  Erasmian,  and  is  charac¬ 
terized  ])rincipally  by  its  iotacism ;  that  is,  it  sounds  u,  t,  oi, 
i»,  lu,  as  our  ce  in  been.  It  derives  its  name  from  the  celebrated 
Reuchlin,  who  was  one  of  its  champions  in  the  first  days  of  the 
controversy. 

The  European  scholars,  who,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  on  the 
revival  of  Greek  literature,  studied  Greek  under  Greeks  from  Con¬ 
stantinople,  adopted  the  pronunciation  of  their  teachers.  Ihis 
mode  continued  undisputed  for  some  time,  until  a  few  scholars 
began  to  suspect  that  it  was  a  comiption,  and  that  it  owed  its 
origin  entirely  to  the  common  ])eople.  This  opinion  was  adopted 
by  Erasmus  (in  extraordinary  circumstances,  if  Yossius  is  to  be 
believed),*  who,  in  1 528,  sent  forth  a  dialogue,  ‘  De  Recta  Latini 


*  See  the  letter  given  in  Professor  Blackie’s  book,  p.  10. 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CtREEK.  0)61 

Gr»Tciqiie  Sermonis  Pronunciationc/  A  bear  and  a  lion  carry 
on  the  conversation.  In  the  coniinenceinent  they  cut  up  with 
unsjxiring  and  acute  wit  the  foibles  and  stupidities  of  school- 
in.asters,  and  make  some  excellent  and  note-worthy  remarks  on  a 
right  system  of  education.  They  then  advance  to  the  ])ronun- 
ciation  of  Latin  and  Greek  :  notice  many  of  the  national  pecu¬ 
liarities  of  enunciation  which  had  crej)t  into  it,  and  attack  the 
method  then  universally  j>ractised.  It  was  easy  work  for  Erasmus 
to  find  fault ;  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  construct  The  plan  he 
j)ro])osed  was  to  enunciate  the  vowels  as  they  are  now  pro- 
nounceil  in  Germany,  or  the  south  of  IScotland,  and  to  give 
distinct  expression  to  both  the  components  of  a  diphthong.  The 
arguments  he  adduces  are  feeble,  and  applied  without  critical 
discrimination  ;  but  nothing  else  could  have  been  expected.  The 
subject  was  a  new  one,  and  consequently  the  Lutch  scholar  was 
able  to  give  only  a  crude  and  imperfect  view  of  the  (piestion. 
His  great  name,  however,  was  sufficient  to  attract  attention,  and 
though  he  himself  continued  to  follow  the  lleuchlinian,  and  in 
all  probability  did  not  imagine  that  any  other  would  ever  be 
adopted,  some  came  forward  daring  enough  to  venture  on  an 
innovation.  John  Choke,  a  bold  man,  and  a  Professor  of  Greek 
in  Cambridge  University,  fought  manfully  and  bravely  for  the 
liberty  of  speaking  Greek  as  he  thought  Plato  and  Demosthenes 
used  to  utter  it,  and  though  the  Chancellor  urged  him  not  to 
disgrace  his  chair  by  such  a  new-fangled  absurdity,  and  by  strong 
decrees  expelled  the  new  ])ractices  from  the  University,  John 
Cheke  got  supporters,  and  his  cause  ultimately  triumphed.  After 
teaching  his  new  method  privately  for  some  years,  he  again  found 
himself  in  the  ITniversity,  and  with  power  to  do  as  he  liked. 
His  innovation  soon  became  universjd  in  England.  He  was  not, 
however,  the  author  of  the  mode  now  followed,  for  that  seems  to 
have  arisen  in  days  when  Greek  scholarship  had  sunk  very  low 
in  this  country. 

The  Erasmian  method  was  not  so  successful  in  Germany ;  for 
there  have  always  been  some  there  who  have  preferred  the 
lleuchlinian,  and  several  of  her  most  illustrious  grammarians 
and  learned  men  have  spoken  out  in  its  behalf,  and  practise  it 
in  their  class-rooms. 

How,  then,  stands  the  matter  ?  Which  of  the  pronunciations 
current  is  the  ancient,  or  most  like  it  ?  In  seeking  for  an  answer 
to  this  question,  we  must  not  forget  that  the  j)ronunciation  of 
Greek  may  have  varied  in  ancient  times.  Homer  may  have 
pronounced  differently  from  Plato,  and  Plato  differently  from 
Chrysostom.  The  Erasmians,  whose  productions  are  contained 
in  Havercamp’s  collection,  neglected  this  Y)oint  altogether.  In 
attacking  their  opponents,  they  drew  arguments  from  all  ages  of 


1 


662 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  GREEK. 


classic  lit(‘rature  indifferently,  as  if  Greek  pronunciation  were  by 
its  very  nature  unchangeable.  A  wiser  spirit,  however,  has  ]x^r- 
vaded  modern  iinpiiry.  The  works  of  Seyffarth  and  Idskov 
classify  the  testimonies  according  to  their  countries  and  ages, 
and  the  consecpience  is,  that  they  have  anived  at  far  more 
reliable  results.  Now,  an  examination  of  the  conclusions  to 
which  these  and  others  have  come,  will  show  that  we  cannot  be 
certain  as  to  what  was  the  pronunciation  of  Greek  in  tlie  days  of 
the  classic  writers.  Some  passages  here  and  there  point  out  how 
single  vowels  were  pronounced ;  but  it  is  not  till  we  come  to  the 
times  of  the  Ca‘sars  that  we  can  give  a  certain  historical  table  of 
almost  all  the  vowels  and  disj)uted  consonants.  Professor  l>Iackie 
has  recorded  the  result  of  his  investigations  in  the  following 

o  O 

summary : — 


l.ottcr. 

P«)wer. 

Long  A 

= 

a  as  in 

father. 

Short  A 

— 

hat. 

li 

= 

al  „ 

pain. 

i: 

= 

(jet. 

ii 

= 

pore. 

() 

= 

[fOt. 

Long  V 

if  V 

huhne. 

Short  \ 

= 

the  same  shortened. 

Jjong  1 

= 

vr  as  in  r/reen. 

Short  I 

= 

the  same  shortened. 

.\I 

= 

ni  as  in 

KI 

= 

ee  „ 

f/reen. 

()1 

= 

rc  „ 

preen. 

OV 

00  ,, 

boom. 

AV 

ai',  aj\ 

or  ? 

KV 

=r 

or  ? 

These  conclusions  may  appear  startling  to  those  who  have  not 
investigated  this  matter;  but  we  can  assure  them,  from  a  close 
scrutiny  of  the  evidence,  that  Professor  l^lackie  is  fully  borne  out. 
Perhaps  in  one  or  two  letters  he  has  not  done  full  justice  to  the 
iotacism  of  modern  Cireek.  11  is  authority  for  pronouncing  as 
ai  in  pain  is  a  passage  intlie  W(wk  of  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus, 
*  Ilfpi  vto’ffiir  \)v(ifiiaTiov.’  The  rhetorician  there  gives  direc¬ 
tions  as  to  how  it  should  be  pronounced,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
mistake  the  sound  to  which  he  refers.  Put  it  may  be  cjuestionod 
whet ht'r  Dionysius  states  the  n>inal  method  of  pronouncing  the 
vow('l,  or  whetlier  he  refers  only  to  its  original  power,  ^lany  a 
schoolmaster  in  our  day  tells  his  pupils  that  a  is  to  be  sounded 
as  (d  in  Jiud  yet  he  teaches  them  to  pronounce  bad  like 

other  )>oople.  So  Dionysius  may  have  given  the  })roper  power 
of  tht'  »j,  without  meaning  to  affirm  that  it  was  so  pronounced 
by  educated  people  in  all  words,  or  by  the  common  people  in 


1 


hj  c 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  GREEK.  663 

any;  for,  if  he  did,  how  can  his  substitutions  of  for  the  Latin  f, 
in  his  transposition  of  Latin  names  into  Greek,  be  nvonciled 
with  the  statement  ?  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  not  of  great  im})or- 
tance,  as  we  have  more  certain  evidence  tliat  was  j)ronounced 
as  i,  ])ysoine  people  at  least,  in  the  lirst  century  of  the  Christian 
era.  ^LTfmTiytw  is  touiid  tor  (TTfHtTtiyav  on  a  monument  ot  that 
age  ;  XfUffmUj  and  Xpiaror  were  contounded,  as  several  of  the 
fathers  inform  us  ;  and  the  Syriac  version  of  the  Now  Testament 
frequently  substitutes  chirek  for  the  »/.  Jf  we  come  lower  than 
the  first  century,  the  ])roofs  are  numerous  and  clear.  We  readily 
grant  that  Plato  ex]>ressly  afhrins  that  n  was  pronounced  diti’e- 
rently  from  i  (though  he  says,  too,  that  long  before  his  time  it 
had  been  ])ronounced  as  /);  and  we  allow’  that  when  Aristoj>hanes 
writes  '(Kti  instea»l  of  to  mark  a  Spartan  woman’s  j)ronuiicia- 
tion,  it  is  certainly  to  be  infmred  that  the  sound  of  i  and  i;  w'ere 
not  the  same.  Indeed,  the  imitation  of  the  bleating  of  a  sheep 
(/3»i,  jiii),  in  a  fragment  of  Cratinus,  gives  us  certainty  with 
regard  to  its  enunciation  in  classic  times;  but  very  early  a  change 
took  place.  Similar  remarks  might  be  made  in  reference  to  the 
sound  of  i>,  of  which,  how’ever,  we  have  less  informati*)!!.  About 
the  fourth  or  fifth  century,  the  habit  of  sounding  it  as  i  became 
settled. 

We  w  ish  w’e  could  ])resent  to  our  readers  the  whole  of  the 
testimony  on  which  these  conclusions  are  based  ;  but  this  is  im¬ 
possible,  and  the  student  will  get  all  that  he  can  desire  in  the 
w'orks  of  Seyfbirth,  Liskov,  and  Pennington.  Meanwhile  we  shall 
select  a  specimen  of  the  kind  of  ])roof,  taking  the  diphthong  ai 
as  tlie  subject  for  examination.  In  the  fourth  century  before  the 
Christian  era,  we  find  in  Athenian  inscriptions,  A^tjvifTv  instead  of 
Ac»/i»fi/rTe,  Kt  foi  knuand  the  like.  The/ec^^/cnc/y  of  this  mistake 
shows  that  at  was  sounded  as  c,  not  by  one  dull-headed  engraver 
inerelv,  but  by  the  great  body  of  the  peoph*.  In  the  third  cen- 
turv,  the  ‘  Seventy’  substitute  at  for  isetr,  as  for  Jkfhel  tliey  w’rite 
;  i'or  flhnj  aWttft.  Now,  this  could  not  have  been  done 
had  tlie  at  been  sounded  as  a  di]>hthong.  A  fragment  of  Calli¬ 
machus  also  throws  light  on  the  sound  of  at — 

Avnat'lii,  nit  yt  ra't^^i  KaXtuj,  K'liXot;  aWa,  TTfjtr  itTrelr 
I'ovTtf  fTtKjtCjr,  rtf  U/Wot 

wdiere  tytt  is  the  echo  of  and  conserpiently  t  of  at.  These 

testimonies  are  sufficient  to  elicit  the  classical  pronunciation  of  m. 
We  have  not  taken  into  consi«lerati(m  Homer’s  use  of  Trattj  as 
a  dissyllable.  No  certain  or  even  ])robable  infertuice  can,  in 
our  opinion,  be  drawn  from  this  ciicumstance.  It  should  be 
mentioned,  however,  that  IVnnington  adduces  a  j)asHage  from 
Plutarch,  and  another  from  iJionysius  of  Halicaniassus,  to  prove 


064 


PRONUNCIATION  OP  GREEK. 


that  the  educated,  in  reading  Thucydides  or  a  classic  author, 
gave  distinct  utterance  to  the  i  of  the  diphthong,  in  the  time  of 
these  witnesses. 

In  the  first  century  of  the  Christian  era,  the  Syriac  interpreters 
substitute  tsere  and  seghol  for  at.  Sextus  Empiricus  calls  at,  £«, 
and  ou,  oTo^fca,  or  elements,  defining  a  <tto\uov  to  be  such 
‘  Ik*  Tov  aavv^sTov  icat  /lovonoiov  <l)^oyy6v.*  As  we  come 

nearer  to  the  present  time,  proofs  multiply;  but  we  shall  con¬ 
tent  ourselves  with  copying  an  extract  from  the  Psalm  Book  of 
King  Athelstan,  given  by  Wetstein.  It  may  be  of  some  use  to 
those  scholars  in  Oxford  and  elsewhere,  who  are  fond  of  middle- 
age  saints,  and  middle-age  things : — 

THE  CREED  IX  ANGLO-SAXON  LETTERS. 

‘  Pistheu  is  then  patera  pantocratero  ce  is  criston  ihu  yon  autu  ton 
monogenton  quirion  iinon  ton  genegenta  ec  pneumatus  agiu  ee  maria 
tis  parthenu,  ton  epi  pontio  pilatu  staurothenta,  tafinta  te  trite  imera 
anastanta  ec  nieron  anaunta  is  tos  uranos,  eatimenon  in  dexia  tu  patros, 
oten  erehetc  crine  zontas  ce  nicros  ce  is  pneunia  agion,  agri,  afisin 
amartion,  sarcos  anasta.  ainin.* 

It  would  be  more  satisfactory  to  many  scholars  if  the  exact 
pronunciation  of  Homer  or  of  Plato  could  be  ascertained  ;  and 
almost  all  who  have  written  on  the  subject  have  ventured  on  a 
theory.  The  one  generally  adopted  is  that  of  Erasmus,  already 
noticed,  for  which  the  Erasmians  fight  very  bravel)\  ‘  Why  call 
two  vowels  diphthongs,'  says  Professor  Cheke,  ‘  if  they  are  not  to 
be  sounded  ;  why  not  call  them  digraphs?'  John  Cheke  might 
as  well  ask  English  grammarians  why  they  talk  of  diphthongs. 
Names  are  not  always  accurate  descriptions  of  things.  They 
may  have  been  called  diphthongs,  because  at  the  time  at  which 
they  were  so  called  both  vowels  were  sounded,  or  it  may  have 
been  that  the  grammatical  term  was  a  translation  from  another 
language,  in  which,  when  the  name  was  given,  each  vowel  was 
distinctly  heard.  ^Many  other  suppositions  might  be  formed,  of 
which  Professor  Cheke  s  is  undoubtedly  the  most  probable,  but 
its  probability  would  not  stand  high  if  set  down  in  figures ;  and, 
even  if  the  argument  were  good,  it  does  not  tell  us  when  or  how 
long  the  diphthongs  were  sounded,  as  they  are  sup>posed  to  be  at 
the  giving  of  the  name. 

‘  But,'  says  Professor  John,  ‘when  the  Greek  letters  were  first 
used  to  commit  to  writing  the  spoken  language,  every  letter 
must  then  have  had  a  distinct  forca'  Not  so  fast,  Professor 
Cheke,  for  you  might  know  very  well  that  when  Hebrew  or 
other  foreign  words  are  transferred  to  English,  all  the  English 
letters  have  not  a  distinct  force.  If  the  Greek  letters  had  been 
formed  expressly  for  the  Greek  language,  the  argument  would 


PRONUNCUTION  OF  GREEK. 


665 


have  been  of  some  value,  but  this  was  not  the  case.  Indeed, 
Professor  Cheke's  arguments  can  be  applied  to  the  English 
letters  as  well  as  to  the  Greek ;  and  it  proves  simply  that  the 
letters,  when  first  invented,  had  each  a  separate  function ;  but  it 
does  not  inform  us  whether  the  diphthongs  possessed  their  double 
sound  wlien  they  were  transferred  from  Plioenician  to  Greek ;  in 
fact,  it  affords  us  no  element  of  time,  and  leaves  the  question  in 
a  very  unsatisfiujtory  position.  These  are  the  principal  arguments 
of  the  Enismians  :  the  rest  ai’e  of  a  similar  nature  and  ecpially 
decisive.  There  are,  certainly,  however,  several  things  in  the 
Homeric  poems  and  other  old  Greek  writings,  which  indicate  that 
the  ancient  pronunciation  differed  from  the  later.  Many  of  the 
contractions  which  occur  could  scarcely  have  arisen  if  the  pro¬ 
nunciation  of  the  time  of  the  Ccesars  had  been  used ;  and  the 
lines  so  frecpiently  quoted  by  the  Erasmians  such  as — 


Tpottj  IV  ivpei^  Ti  I'v  ot  TOfTot'  dtCvfrao  Zeu ; 


do  not  sound  well  according  to  the  Reuchlinian  mode,  though 
this  argument  has  often  been  pressed  too  far.  But  all  these  give 
us  nothing  positive  ;  they  bring  before  us  our  ignorance,  but 
they  do  not  enlighten  us.  We  must  be  content,  therefore,  with 
what  historical  criticism  can  certify  to  us. 

The  discussion  of  the  pronunciation  of  Greek  involves  another 
matter  on  which  almost  all  are  theoretically  right  and  practically 
wrong — we  mean  accentuation.  It  is  needless  at  the  present 
time  to  prove  that  the  Greeks  pronounced  according  to  accent : 
that  is,  that  they  laid  a  certain  stress  of  the  voice  on 
those  syllables  on  which  we  liave  now  accentual  marks.  Plato 
makes  express  mention  of  them.  The  grammarians  again  and 
again  define  and  discuss  them.  We  are  told  that  Aristophanes 
of  Byzantium  was  the  inventor  of  the  accentual  marks,  and  we 
have  the  best  evidence  that  these  were  used  in  the  first  century 
in  public  inscriptions.  Verses,  likewise,  were  made  according  to 
accents  ;  accentual  marks  are  occasionally  to  be  met  with  in  very 
ancient  manuscripts  ;  and  the  accentuation  thus  indicated  is  tlie 
same  as  that  which  Chrysoloras,  Lascaris,  and  other  Greeks, 
taught  their  scholars  in  the  fifteenth  century.  Not  long  after  the 
taking  of  Constantinople  by  the  Turks,  the  communications  of 
learned  men  with  Greece  were  broken  off,  the  doctrine  of  accents 
was  discussed  and  rules  for  them  were  made  out,  as  if  no  Greek 
nation  were  in  existence ;  and  now,  when  intercourse  with 
Greeks  is  again  becoming  more  common,  we  find  them  speaking 
according  to  the  accents  which  are  printed  in  our  editions  of  the 
classics.  Proof  of  this  sort  is  irresistible,  and  he  must  be  a  bold 
man  who  can,  in  the  face  of  the  accumulated  evidence  on  the 
point,  venture  to  assert  that  our  accentual  marks  have  no  mean- 


66G 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  GREEK. 


ing,  and  that  the  Greeks  regarded  nothing  but  quantity  in  tlieir 
pronunciation.  Such  an  assertion  has  been  made  oftener  than 
once,  but  we  hope  that  the  days  when  learned  men  could  utter 
such  an  absurdity  are  passed  away  for  ever. 

The  ancient  Greeks  undoubtedly  ol>served  the  quantity  of 
syllables  in  their  pronunciation  of  their  language,  but  this  circum¬ 
stance  leaves  undetermined  on  what  syllable  the  accent  was 
placed.  Every  word  has  one  accent,  as  Cicero  correctly  affirms, 
and  those  who  have  pretended  to  discard  accents  from  Gi’eek,  do 
not  pronounce  it  according  to  quantity  but  according  to  the 
Latin  accentuation.  This  they  have  done,  though  Quinctilian 
contrasts  the  Latin  with  the  Greek  in  this  very  point.  ‘  Sed 
accentus  (pioque  cum  rigore  qiiodam,  turn  similitudine  i]>sa 
minus  suaves  habemus,  quia  ultima  syllaba  nec  acuta  unquam 
excitatur,  nec  tlexa  circumducitur,  sed  in  gravem,  vel  duas  graves 
cadit  semper.  Itac^ue  tanto  est  sermo  Graicus  Latino  jucundior 
ut  nostri  poeta?  quoties  dulce  carmen  esse  voluerant,  illorum  id 
noininibus  exornent."  What  could  be  plainer  ? 

But  can  the  accents  and  quantity  be  both  retained  ?  U  n- 
doubtedly  they  can,  and  equally  far  is  it  from  doubt  that  the 
ancient  Greeks  did  observe  them  both.  An  acute  accent  does 
not  lengthen  a  syllable,  as  is  evident  at  once  from  the  common 
pronunciation  of  the  words  spirit,  Latin,  inimical ;  and  if  we 
remember  that  the  Greeks  spoke  much  more  slowly  and  musically 
than  Englishmen  are  accustomed  to  do,  we  shall  see  that  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  to  them  in  such  words  as  av^pwirofs.  Likely 
enough,  some  of  the  low  rabble  of  Colyttus  may  have  spoken 
Greek  in  a  'way  as  different  from  that  of  a  'w^ell-educated  Greek 
as  the  dialect  of  Whitechapel  differs  from  that  of  Belgravia;  but 
from  the  stories  told  of  the  acuteness  of  the  Athenian  ear,  we 
may  gather  that  among  the  great  mass  of  the  people  both  accent 
and  cpiantity  were  carefully  observed  ;  and  there  is  certainly 
more  n^ason  for  believiim,  if  this  were  not  the  case,  that  accent 
was  adhered  to  rather  than  (juantity.  In  public  orations  we  know 
that  both  were  very  strictly  observed.  As  to  quantity,  Dionysius 
of  Halicarnassus  actually  scans  part  of  the  funeral  oration  of 
Plato,  while  Plutarch  infonns  us  that  Demosthenes  was  hissed,  as 
we  should  say  (t7ri  roiVtj)  7roAX«ic#c  because,  from  an 

etymological  speculation  of  his  own,  he  dared  to  pronounce 
Asklepios  as  a  ]iroparoxyton€,  contrary  to  custom.  Verse,  again, 
was  constructed  according  to  quantity,  and  there  seems  good 
reason  for  lielieving  that  w  hen  poetry  w  as  read,  or  rather  chanted, 
the  s])oken  accents  were  observed  as  far  as  the  musical  permitted. 
The  choral  songs,  howevei*,  w  ere,  in  all  probability,  never  read ; 
and  when  sung,  the  musical  accent  would  completely  destroy 
the  spoken. 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  GREEK. 


607 


We  cannot  go  further  into  this  part  of  the  subject.  We  have 
not  all  the  light  on  it  that  .could  be  wislied  ;  and  the  want  of  a 
thorough  musical  education  unfits  many  scholars  from  appre¬ 
ciating  a  portion  of  the  facts  that  liave  come  down  to  us.  Some 
good  remarks  on  the  subject  will  be  found  in  Professor  Bladders 
book.  Any  one,  however,  who  wishes  to  go  deeply  into  the  study 
will  do  well  to  examine  tlie  Professors  pamphlet  on  the 
‘  Khv thin ical  Declamation  of  the  Ancients,'  and  the  admirable 
investigation  of  the  matter  in  Peimington's  ‘  Essay  on  the 
Pronunciation  of  the  Greek.  Lanjiuaixe.' 

What  pronunoiation  then  ought  to  be  adopted  in  our  schools 
and  colleges  ?  From  the  remarks  already  made,  it  is  manifest 
that  our  present  mode  stands  on  no  authority,  theoretical  or 
historical.  Accenting  Greek  according  to  Latin  laws  is  op¬ 
posed  to  the  express  declarations  of  Quinctilian.  In  a  con¬ 
tinuation  of  the  passage  previously  adduced,  the  rhetorician 
confesses  the  defects  of  Latin  in  these  words: — ‘Non  possumus 
esse  tarn  graciles?  Simus  fortiores.’  Now,  according  to  our 
pronunciation,  both  languages  are  fortes.  Greek  and  Latin 
are  alike  ;  they  have  the  same  stately  monotonous  march.  Hear, 
on  the  other  hand,  an  educated  Greek  read  the  ancient  language, 
and  you  can  see  at  once,  that  while  the  Latin  moves  on  as 
with  the  heavy  tread  of  an  elephant,  or,  to  use  a  more  compli¬ 
mentary  comparison,  as  with  the  dignified  pace  of  a  lion,  the 
movement  of  Greek  may  be  compared  to  that  of  a  serpent 
which  now  suddenly  darts  forwjird,  then  poises  itself  for  a 
moment,  and  then  gently  traces  exquisite  lines  of  beauty.  We 
certainly  do  great  injustice  to  Greek  in  om*  pronunciation. 

Scholia’s  of  a  certain  stamp  are  slow  to  move,  and  we  know 
full  well  that  schoolmasters  will  make  strong  objections  to  altering 
their  pronunciation ;  but  we  apjieal  to  their  candour  and  good 
sense,  and  we  ask,  why  should  such  an  eccentricity  as  our  pro¬ 
nunciation  of  Greek,  unauthorized  l)y  iincient  practice,  and  having 
no  beauty  or  consistency  in  itself,  be  allowed  to  disgrace  our  seats 
of  learning  ? 

But  what  other  pronunciation  can  be  adopted  in  its  stead? 
The  modern  Greek,  .say  we,  without  hesitation.  Supj)o8e  a 
German  wished  to  learn  English,  would  he  begin  debating  with 
himself  as  to  whetht;r  he  would  try  to  a.scertain  tlie  pronunciation 
common  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  and  follow  that  as  having  the 
authority  of  the  Augustan  age  of  English  literature?  Would  he 
not  acting  contrary  to  the  acknowledged  rights  of  a  living 
language  ?  Or,  suppose  we  heard  him  reading  Shakspeare  in  a 
way  in  which  he  thought  the  dramatist  himself  jironounced  the 
words,  should  we  not  smile  at  his  aitclics  for  acheSy  and  other 
peculiarities  t  We  need  not  wonder,  then,  if  the  Greeks  are  aato- 


3^" 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  CREEK. 


nisliod  that  our  men  of  mighty  learning  should  enunciate  their 
language  in  a  manner  in  which  it  is  totally  unintelligihle  to  them. 
They  claim  to  be  dictators  in  this  matter,  not  merely  as  standing 
on  a  tradition  of  1400  years,  or  more,  but  as  the  moulders  and 
lawgivers  of  their  o^^m  language.  ‘  As  much  right  have  we,'  say 
they,  ‘to  adopt  an  arbitrary  method  of  speaking  English,  pro¬ 
nouncing  every  letter  distinctly,  and  doing  away  with  all  its 
irregularities,  as  you  scholars  to  mangle  and  torture  our  native 
tongue  in  the  way  you  do.'  What  answer  can  be  made  to  this 
appeal  ?  None,  we  suspect,  unless  that  modern  Greek  is  not  the 
same  language  as  the  ancient.  If  this  w  ere  the  case,  of  course  the 
present  inhabitants  of  Greece  w’ould  have  no  more  right  to  inter¬ 
fere  wdth  ancient  Greek  than  the  Italians  wdth  Latin.  Jhit  is 
this  the  case  i  No.  We  do  not  deny  that  changes  have  taken 
})lace  in  the  language,  and  that  the  Neo-Hellenic  contains  in  it 
several  modern  elements.  But  we  fearlessly  assert,  that  the 
ditferences  between  it  and  ancient  Greek  are  not  so  great  as  to 
make  them  tw’o  distinct  languages.  Modern  Greek  does  not 
difter  so  much  from  ancient  Greek  as  the  English  of  Wicklif 
from  that  of  the  days  of  James  I.;  and  we  believe  that  those 
Greeks  for  whom  the  notes  of  scholiasts  were  written  w  ouhl  tind 
less  dithcidtv  in  reading  a  modern  author  than  in  reading  Homer. 
In  thus  speaking,  we  are  merely  reiterating  the  statements  of 
all,  or,  at  least,  the  greatest  part  of  those  who  have  studied  the 
modern  language.  Professor  Blackie,  who  is  one  of  the  first 
British  Neo- Hellenic  scholars,  devotes  several  pages  to  a  refuta¬ 
tion  of  the  notion  that  Greek  is  a  dead  language.*  Many  Germans 
w’ho  have  been  in  Greece  have  expressed  the  same  opinion,  and 
Cor])e,  in  his  preface  and  his  whole  grammar,  testifies  to  the  fact. 
Indeed,  a  proof  of  this  point  is  etusy.  Let  the  classical  student 
read  the  following  extract,  taken  from  a  novel  by  Alexander 
JSoutsos,  and  say  if  he  finds  difficulty  in  understanding  it : — 

KfHtToufifi'vi  iiTTo  T(iQ  ^e7f)aCi  TrffHTrarovrrec  ftoroi  vXok'Xi'ifxn'c 
tXfffTfwt'OVf^ify  tiQ  rac  ItCfTTaneic  Tor  k‘()(TfAOi'  k’cii  tov£  Tnk'fjovr  rov 

7rfpimra(T^i(fV£.  *11  ynXi'irr]  rij£  fupiri/c  I'VKTocy  o  (larffttoTrotj 

oiyKii'or,  TO  KfXtu'tjftu  rijg  ruty  rafJutTwy  knii  Twy  ^t(l)VfHt)y 

o  ripiryoc  \!/t^vfH(rf.t6£y  to  Tray  ficig  fyot]revei\ 

This  extract,  taken  from  a  letter  wTitten  by  a  Greek  to  his 
sweetheart,  and  describing  their  moonlight  w’anderings,  is  a  lair 
specimen  of  the  Greek  usually  addressed  to  the  people.  M  e 
have  selected  it  purely  from  the  harmony  of  the  sound  and  the 
sense  which  it  exhibits.  We  might  have  chosen  passages  from 

*  The  Professor  diseusses  this  point  more  fully  in  a  leeture  delivrred  on  his 
return  from  a  visit  to  (rreeee :  *  Uu  the  Living  Language  of  tlie  (Greeks,  and  its 
utility  to  the  Classical  Scholar.*  EdiiiburLrh;  Sutherland  &  Knox.  Ib53. 


/ 

/ 


PnOXUNCIATIOX  OF  OUEEK. 


works  adilressod  to  tlie  learned,  wlueli  could  not  he  distini^fuished 
from  ancient  Greek,  or  we  might  pitch  on  many  songs  in  Fauriel  s 
collection  of  niodern  Greek  ballads,  which  would  ht'  intelligihh> 
to  none  hut  those  thoroughly  vei-sed  in  the  language.  The  mean 
is  tlu‘  fairest,  and  we  i\sk,  does  it  not  prove  our  point  i  Would 
it  not  he  easy  to  select  sjKK'imens  of  the  Doric  dialect  which 
differ  far  more  widely  from  Attic  than  this^  The  use  of  c'itto 
with  the  accusative,  ti<,*  for  tr,  ami  /tine  for  the  genitive  and 
accusiitive  plural  of  tytOf  are  the  princijKil  peculiarities  in  these 
sentences,  ami  certainly  nothing  worth  speaking  of. 

The  history  of  the  language  leads  to  a  similar  conclusion. 
When  did  Greek  ceiise  to  he  the  language  of  Grei'ce  {  Not  in 
the  third  and  fourth  centuries  of  the  Ghristian  era,  for  we  have 
an  illustrious  band  of  Greek  fathers,  who  preached  and  wrote 
their  language  with  vigour  and  elegance.  Not  in  the  middle 
ages,  for  the  works  of  the  llyzantine  historians  are  in  Greek. 
They  may  not  he  written  in  such  Greek  as  woidd  j)lc:use  some  of 
our  retined  scholars,  who,  intiiiested  only  in  wonls  and  phnises,  and 
caring  little  about  the  matter  of  Greek  hooks,  abjure  all  authors 
who  do  not  belong  to  a  certain  supposed  chvssical  age  of  ])urity. 
If  such  were  to  ciirry  their  views  down  t(^  niodern  times,  they 
wouhl  he  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  English  was  the  most 
barbarous  language  on  the  fiwe  of  the  earth,  and  that  Milton  and 
Shakspi‘are  were  not  to  he  read  because  they  happemal  to  use  it ! 
With  scholars  of  a  liberal  cast,  however,  the  Greek  of  Anna 
Comnena,  or  of  CMialcondyles,  will  he  allowed  to  ht‘  Greek,  and 
not  very  had,  after  all.  Nor  did  the  language  fall  into  disuse 
after  the  taking  of  Constantinople  by  tlie  Turks.  Tlie  priests 
continued  to  use  the  ancient  language,  according  to  the  com¬ 
mands  of  their  ])atriarchs ;  and  down  to  the  present  time,  hooks 
have  been,  and  are  still,  written  by  learned  men  in  ancit'ut  Greek. 
Tliere  has  thus  been  an  uninterrupted  tradition  of  the  aticicnt 
language.  Ihit  what  do  we  know  of  the  modern  i  The  twelfth 
century  is  the  time  generally  assigned  to  the  tirst  apiH'arance  of 
the  modern  as  a  written  language;  and  it  ditfered  from  the 
ancient  in  this,  that  it  was  an  exact  coj)y  of  tliat  Greek  which 
was  used  in  common  conversation.  It  ha<l  taken  up  some  of 
the  forms  which  characterize  modern  languages,  sucli  as  the  uso 
of  auxiliary  verbs,  while  it  retained  several  /Kolic  or  Doric 
inflexions.  It  had  also  a  large  infusion  of  Homeric  and  other 
ancient  words,  which  were  seldom  found  in  the  written  language, 
just  as  many  of  the  dialects  of  the  English  counties  and  the 
Scotch  contain  Shaks))earian  wonls  ^now  oh.solete  in  written 
Emdish.  Our  extract  from  Soutsos  will  exhibit  the  truth  of 
this  statement.  Modern  Greek  is  therefore  essentially  is>pular; 
it  was  the  language  of  the  vuhjus.  But,  as  in  the  interval 


*•1.  If 


t  ‘  I 


-4" 


670 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  GREEK. 

between  the  domination  of  the  Turks  and  Venetians,  and  the 
excitement  of  a  free  spirit  attendant  on  the  French  Revolution, 
almost  all  the  Greeks  were  compelled  to  occupy  the  position  of 
the  vub/ns,  modern  Greek  came  into  universal  use.  J>uring 
these  centuries  of  Turkish  domination,  the  language  was  fairly 
in  the  way  of  becoming  a  new  one,  through  the  adoption  of 
Turkish,  Italian,  and  otlier  words  and  idioms.  A  better  day, 
however,  dawned  on  (Jreece.  A  national  feeling  begtin  to  per¬ 
vade  her,  and  amidst  other  results  of  it,  her  language  was  puri¬ 
fied, — the  foreign  elements  were  systematically  expelled,  an<l  the 
learned  Korais  and  his  followers  have  brought  back  as  many  of 
the  forms  of  the  ancient  dialect  as  was  consistent  with  the  motlern 
spirit  and  modes  of  thinking.  So  that  now  there  is  perhaps  not 
another  language  that  has  so  few  foreign  words.  Its  richness 
supplies  it  witli  terms  for  all  our  inventions,  and  for  all  our 
philoso])hic  ideas.  Railway,  Steamer,  Daguen’eotype,  ami  s\ich 
words  are  expressed  in  compounil  words  of  ])ure  Greek,  while 
many  of  our  scientific  and  other  names,  as  j)hotography,  phono¬ 
graphy,  are  Greek  already.  Professor  Bhtckie  informs  us  that 
in  three  columns  of  a  Greek  neicsj^oper,  of  the  year  RSoii,  there 
do  not  certainly  occur  three  v:ords  that  are  not  pure  native 
Greek. 

The  Greeks,  then,  we  maintain,  have  an  inalienable  right  to 
legislate  on  the  pronunciation  of  their  language.  But  even  if 
they  had  not,  it  happens  that  theirs  is  the  only  one  current 
which  has  a  good  foundation  in  historical  inquiry.  The  practical 
conclusion,  then,  seems  inevitable  that  the  modern  Greek  pro¬ 
nunciation  should  be  universally  adopted. 

Tho  only  ])oint  on  wdiich  a  scholar  might  have  some  hesitation 
is  the  neglect  of  quantity  which  prevails  in  modern  Greek,  'bhus 
TVTTTuvai  is  tipthsi.  This  certainly  was  not  the  case  in  the  best 
times  of  the  ancient  language  ;  still  this  ])ractice  is  not  of  recent 
orimn.  The  accent  does  not  lengthen  the  svllable  on  which  it  is 
placed,  nor  shorten  the  syllables  that  follow  it.  It  is  not  ditticult 
to  ]>ronounce  such  a  word  as  grandfather,  and  equally  easy  is  it 
to  give  both  accent  and  quantity  to  «i'3’p(t)7roc.  Nor  is  it  contrary 
to  reason  to  suppose  that  the  Greek  people  gave  both  in  the 
common  talk  of  life,  provided  they  had  a  good-  musical  education, 
and  spoke  more  slowly  than  is  common  with  us.  Indeed,  we 
have  often  heard  Greeks  linger  unconsciously  on  syllables  succeed¬ 
ing  the  accented  one.  But  when  a  language  is  spoken  (juickly, 
or  when  a  nation  loses  the  exquisite  sense  of  time  wdiich  the 
Greeks  possesseil,  the  penultimate  syllable  of  a  jiroparoxytone  is 
apt  to  be  shortened.  This  took  place  in  the  Greek  language. 
Pennington  finds  examples  of  accentual  verses  in  Dionysius  of 


rilONUNCIAnON  OF  OUEEK. 


671 


Halicarn»assus,  AVe  are  not  pertec'tly  satisfied  that  lie  is  correct 
in  the  interpretation  of  the  passage ;  the  verses,  too,  are  not 
very  smooth,  if  scanned  by  accents  ;  yet  we  confess  we  have  no 
other  reason  for  doubting  than  the  early  age  of  the  writer. 

Tlie  fifth  century  of  the  Christian  era  gives  us  proof,  at  least, 
of  tlie  commencement  of  this  custom,  and  the  eight li  of  its 
having  become  ])revalent.  rriulentius,  in  the  fifth  century, 
shortens  the  jienult  of  and  of  similar  words;  and  in 

the  eighth  century  we  have  the  vo'snsf  poliiicif  or  vers(‘s  framed 
according  to  accent,  from  .lohn  of  Damascus.  Add  to  this,  the 
legislative  rights  of  the  modern  language,  and  the  consideration 
that  the  custom  is  more  consonant  witli  modern  habits,  ami  more 
suitable  to  most  Knglisb  oars  ;  and  we  think  we  have  a  case  for 
following  the  Creeks.  We  should  follow  them  even  in  reading 
the  ancient  orators,  just  as  we  adhere  to  onr  present  ]n*onunoia- 
tionof  English  in  reading  Wicklif.  Toetry,  on  the  otlier  hand, 
is  based  on  (jiiantity,  wliicli  C()nst‘(|ii(‘ntly  must  he  attended  to,  as 
in  reading  Cliaucer  we  deem  it  riglit  to  convert  monosyllabic 
words  into  dissyllaliles,  when  the  rhythm  demands  it. 

We  have  been  able  to  present  only  tlie  general  outlines  of  thus 
subject,  and  we  now  submit  the  matter  to  tlu‘  judgment  of 
British  scholars.  They,  we  maintain,  have  a  h»‘tter  right  to 
<lecide  what  ought  to  he  onr  |>rnmmoiatiun  of  Greek  than  those 
from  whom  we  have  derived  our  present  mode,  because  the 
philology  of  this  age  is  sounder  and  healthier,  and  the  means  of 
investigation  are  more  abundant.  It  is  not  at  all  imjnohahle 
that  wo  have  boon  somewhat  pit^judieed  in  the  advocacy  of  onr 
own  view.  It  is  almost  inn)()s.sil>lt?  to  avoid  this.  But  we  shall 
have  attained  our  object  if  we  excite  our  h*arned  men  to  a  calm, 
liberal,  ami  thorough  examination  of  this  not  unimportant  ]>oiiit 
of  scholarship.  Prejudices  we  all  have  ;  custom  throws  its  cliains 
around  everv  man  ;  and  each  is  rcadv  to  defend  liisown  crotchet 
at  the  expense  of  sense  and  truth.  But  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
one  to  struggle  against  everv  obstacle  that  hmder.s  him  from  a 
clear  insight  into  the  tnitli,  no  matter  whether  the  truth  he  of 
small  or  groat  importance.  And  the  f|ue.stioii  before  ns  is  not 
without  its  interest  and  its  advantages.  The  investigation  may 
drag  many  scholars,  crammed  with  grammatical  inflections  and 
nothing  else,  into  the  healthy  literature  of  a  people  proud  of 
their  descent  and  of  their  jiresent  liberties;  and  it  may  open  up 
to  ns  easier  methods  of  learning  languages.  It  is  notorious  that 
our  scholars  can  read  and  write  Greek  and  Latin,  but  when  a 
Greek  bilks  to  them  in  the  one  language,  or  a  Magyar  or  Roman- 
catholic  prie.st  in  the  other,  they  are  duml>.  Onr  system  of 
education  is  palpably  wrong  in  ne(fleciing  the  ear  as  an  instru- 


LORD  RACOX. 


iiient  ill  acquiring  languages.  We  imagine  that  if  our  young 
men  wero  first  taught  to  speak  motlern  Greek,  and  were  then 
gradually  led  from  the  modem  to  the  ancient  liteniture,  they 
would  learn  more  Greek,  and  reap  a  richer  harvest  of  those 
advantaires  which  a  classical  education  can  confer. 


Akt.  hi. — l>(tcon’'s  Essays^  Apophtherpns^  IVisdom  of  ilie  Ancients, 
Scir  Atlantis,  and  Henry  VII.  With  Introductory  llissertiitioii 
an<l  Notes  by  J.  Dove}’,  M.A.  (l^ohii’s  Standard  Libnu’y,  1852.) 
2.  J>acoHS  Xovuni  Oryanuni,  and  Advancement  of  l^earniny.  With 
Notes  by  J.  Devey,  M.A.  (Uoha’s  Seientilic  Jabrary  1853.)* 

The  two  main  divisions  of  the  history  of  philosophy  are  ancient 
and  modern.  All  that  does  not  strictly  belong  to  either  of  these 
may  bo  regarded  as  fonning  transition  ste2)s.  ^lodern  civiliza¬ 
tion,  though  it  may  not  have  excelled  antiquity  in  the  tine  art.s, 
})oetry,  rhetoric,  statuary — and  is  indebted  to  it  for  the  founda¬ 
tion  of  jnire  mathematics — has  far  surpassed  it  in  those  branches 
of  knowledge  which  are  based  on  observation  and  experiment. 

In  order  rightly  to  estimate  the  scientific  reformation  which 
was  mainly  brought  about  by  Bacon,  let  us  glance  at  the  chief 
characteristics  of  the  scholastic  plLilo.sophy.  As  early  as  the 
second  century  of  the  jiresent  era,  Christianity  came  in  contact 
with  the  philosophy  of  the  age,  and  especially  with  New  Pla¬ 
tonism.  It  was  not,  however,  till  the  eleventh  century,  that 
what  may  be  called  Christian  philosophy  sprung  up,  which, 
under  its  varied  jdiases,  is  collectively  .styled  scholasticism. 
The  origin  of  this  term  is  to  be  found  in  the  Scholar,  or  schools, 
which  were  founded  by  Charlemagne  for  philoso])hical  studies; 
in  which,  however,  scarcely  any  in  those  days  had  either 
leisure  or  inclination  to  engage,  except  the  clergy.  Hence  the 
main  characteristic  of  this  period  was  constant  endeavour  to 
explain  the  doctrines  of  the  church  philosophically,  and  to  work 
them  up  into  the  fonn  of  scientific  systems.  Anselm's  declara¬ 
tion,  ‘  credo  ut  intelligam,'  was  adopted  as  the  guiding  principle. 
The  works  of  the  scholastic  writers  exhibit  an  immense  amount 


*  The  })rcscnt  article  is  intciuleil  to  be  ^\\  exposition.  Wc  have  ciuleavoiirLcl 
to  gatlier  the  ‘viutacre*  of  the.  aeeounts  given  by  St e wad,  IMayfair,  Na])ier, 
Campbell,  Macaulay,  Ballam,  Morell,  Cousin,  Hopnus,  Lewes,  Craik,  A'C.  The 
editions  which  wc  have  noticed  alx)ve  contain  valmudc  illustrative  notes.  Their 
elieapuoss  ])laees  the  works  of  the  illustrious  philosopher  within  the  reach  ol  a 
large  circle  of  reivders. 


LOUD  BACON. 


673 


of  subtlety  and  acuteness,  industry  and  toil;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  mass  of  barren  definitions,  and  fruitless  distinctions, 
‘grave  trifling,  and  solemn  folly/  hence,  the  absence  of  really 
valuable  results. 

The  final  aim  of  scholastic  philosophy  was  a  scientific  develop¬ 
ment  of  the  tenets  of  tlie  Roman  church.  It  assumed  as  its 
basis  the  truth  of  those  tenets,  and  employed  as  its  in.stniment 
the  Aristotelian  logic.  The  deep  and  extensive  intluence  of 
Aristotle's  writings  at  this  periotl  is  thus  graphically  (]t.*scri})ed 
by  Dr.  ICoppus  : — ‘This  logic  was  the  engine  liy  which,  for 
ages,  the  minds  of  men  were  bewitclied  in  a  manner  that  was 

altogether  extraordinary . Glosses,  ])araphi*ascs,  summaries, 

arguments,  and  dissertations  on  his  works  were  composed  without 
end ;  .  .  .  Many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  west  learned  Arabic, 
in  order  to  read  a  translation  of  them  in  that  lan"ua"e.  The 
Latin  tongue  was  made  another  medium  of  their  circulation, 

and  they  w'cre  read  in  mo.st  parts  of  the  know’n  world . 

Aristotle's  works  were  the  great  text-book  of  knowledge,  and 

his  logic  w  as  tiie  only  weapon  of  truth . Christians,  Jews, 

and  Mahometans  united  in  jirofessing  avssent  to  the  great  law¬ 
giver  of  human  opinions,  ;  not  Europe  alone,  but  also  Africa 
and  Asia  acknowledged  his  dominion  ;  and  while  his  Greek 
originals  w^ere  studied  at  Paris,  translations  were  read  in  Persia 
and  at  Samarcand.  The  rage  for  disputation,  which  now  began 
to  prevail  in  consequence  of  the  spread  of  this  philosophy, 
indiiceil  the  council  of  Liiteran,  under  Pope  Innocent  III.,  to 
proclaim  a  prohibition  of  the  use  of  the  physics  and  metaphysics 
of  Aristotle;  but  awful  as  w’ere  then  the  thunders  of  the  Vatican, 
they  were  not  mighty  enough  to  dethrone  him  from  that  des¬ 
potism  over  men's  minds,  which,  by  long  custom,  had  now  ren¬ 
dered  itself  almost  omnipotent.'  At  length,  ‘in  some  of  the 
universities  of  Europe,  statutes  were  framed,  which  required  the 
jirofessors  to  promise  on  oath,  that  in  their  public  lectures  on 
philosojdiy,  they  would  follow  no  other  guide.' 

The  most  important  point  of  philosophical  discussion  during 
the  schola.stic  age,  and  one  which  exhibits  itself  through  the 
wdiole  period,  is  that  between  Nominalism  and  Realism.  Realism 
philosophised  in  support  of  the  church,  and  was  in  turn  protected 
by  ecclesiastical  authority;  Nominalism  contended  against  the 
dominion  of  ecclesiastical  power;  Realism  represents  the  dog¬ 
matical,  Nominalism  the  critical  element ;  Realism  fettered  indi¬ 
vidual  freedom  with  the  bonds  of  external  authority ;  Nomi¬ 
nalism  sought  to  establish  the  .autonomy  of  human  reason. 

During  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  several  great 
events  combined  in  bringing  about  the  ultimate  freedom  of 
rational  speculation  from  suborilination  to  ecclesiastical  autho- 

N.s. — VOL.  VII 1.  X  X 


674  LORD  BACON. 

ritv.  Ab  the  first  of  these,  ^^  e  may  place  the  revival  of  learning 
ill  the  fifteenth  century.  During  the  scholastic  age,  the  study  of 
the  ancient  classical  authors  had  declined ;  even  the  Platonic 
and  Aristotelian  systems  were  known  almost  exclusively  from 
translations  and  secondaiy  sources.  Italy  first  awoke  to  a  juster 
ap])reciation  of  the  beauties  of  the  authpie.  The  arrival  of  Greek 
fugitives  from  Constantinojde  gave  a  great  impulse  to  tlie  study 
of  ancient  authors  in  that  land.  Greek  and  Latin  w  orks  w  ere 
read  in  the  original  languages,  and  the  art  of  printing  multi¬ 
plied  copies.  Learned  men  assembled  at  the  court  of  the  Medici 
at  Florence.  Bessarion  and  ^larsilius  Ficinus  distinguished 
themselves  as  expositors  of  the  ancient,  and  es))ecially  of  the 
Platonic  philosophy.  Classical  refinement  protested  against  the 
<lr\%  inelegant,  uncritical  mode  in  which  the  sciences  had  hitherto 
been  handled.  ‘  The  mere  substitution  of  the  Academic  for  the 
Peripatetic  philoso))hy  w  ould  indeed  have  done  little  good.  But 
anything  w  as  better  than  the  old  habit  of  unreasoning  servility. 
It  was  something  to  have  a  choice  of  tyrants.  ‘‘A  sjiark  of 
freedom,"'  as  Gibbon  has  justly  remarked,  was  produced  by  this 
collision  of  adverse  servitude.” 

The  second  and  main  cause  was  the  Reformation.  The  contest 
against  the  spirit  of  scholasticism — the  advocacy  of  classic  culture 
— the  struggle  after  national  inde))endence — the  etforts  of  society 
to  liberate  itself  from  the  Roman  hierarchy — the  desire  of 
(exploring  the  facts  and  laws  of  nature — above  all,  the  grasping 
of  individual  reason  after  a  full  emancipation  from  external 
authority — in  short,  every  element  of  modern  times  finds  its 
centre-point  in  the  great  German  reformation.  Luther  and 
many  of  his  distinguished  contemporaries  diil  not  hesitate  to 
express  their  contempt  of  the  Peripatetic  philosophy. 

A  third  cause  w^as  a  number  of  disconnected  attempts  at 
iiiih'pendent  thinking  on  the  part  of  Peter  Ramus  (1515-1572) 
in  the  science  of  logic ;  of  Telesius  and  Campanella  in  physics; 
and  of  Patritius,  and  Giordano  Bruno  in  metaphysics — all  w  hich, 
however,  failed  to  produce  any  permanent  results. 

A  fourth  cause  was  the  rise  of  the  natural  sciences.  Coper¬ 
nicus,  Kejder,  and  Galileo  restored  to  nature  the  honour^  of 
which  .scholasticism  had  robbed  her,  gave  a  new  aspect  to  the 
world  of  thought,  and  shook  men's  faith  in  the  authority  of  the 
church.  The  investigation  of  natiure's  law's,  shamefully  but 
vainly  op|)i)sed  by  the  hierarchy  and  papal  orthodoxy,  amie  to 
be  viewed  as  an  essential  object  of  philosophy. 

Thus,  even  before  the  time  of  Bacon,  the  justice  of  the  tyrannic 
sway  which  scholasticism  had  exercised  over  the  minds  of  men 
had  been  called  in  question,  and  in  opposition  to  servile  obe- 


*  ^laoaalay. 


LORD  BACON. 


675 


dieuce  to  external  authority,  a  revolutionary  spirit  had  raised  its 
head ;  nor  had  the  fortresses  of  that  dominion  remained  free  from 
direct  and  repeated  attack.  But  the  fundamental  reason  of  the 
injustice  of  that  rule  had  not  heon  clearly  pointed  out:  the  revo¬ 
lution  needed  the  guidance  of  some  master-mind,  who  should 
plan  and  etfect  an  assault  upon  the  citadel  itself,  and  who  should 
sketcli  the  outline  of  a  future  government  which  merited  the  lofty 
name  of  science. 

In  the  words  of  Mr.  Morell,  ‘  Twt)  such  minds  arose,  both  of 
gigantic  powei*s  and  almost  inexhaustible  resources.  Each  of 
them  applied  his  whole  strength  to  aid  the  work  of  reformation ; 
and  their  combined  intluence  succeeded  in  turning  the  stream  of 
all  scientific  investigation  into  the  two  main  directions,  which  it 
has  been  pursuing  more  or  less  ever  since.  The  first  of  these 
was  Lord  Bacon  ;  the  next  in  the  order,  both  of  time  and  intluence, 
was  Descartes.'  We  postpone  the  comparison  of  their  merits 
and  philoso])hical  methods. 

Francis  Bacon  was  born  at  York  House,  in  the  Straml, 
January  22,  1561.  He  was  the  son  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  who, 
during  the  first  twenty  years  of  Elizabeth’s  reign  was  Lord-keeper 
of  the  great  seal,  and  in  legal  ability  and  political  wisdom  was 
universally  ranked  secoinl  only  to  the  great  Burle’gh.  His 
mother,  who  was  the  second  daughter  of  Sir  Anthony  Cooke,  was 
well  versed  in  the  Creek,  Latin,  and  Italian  languages,  and  also 
eminent  for  her  piety.  He  was  delicate  in  health,  and  fond  of 
sedentary  pursuits.  His  activity  of  intellect,  which  early  showed 
itself  in  attem]>ts  to  explain  the  anomalies  of  legerdemain,  and 
the  curious  echo  in  a  vault  in  St.  James's  Fields,  wfis  no  doubt 
fostered  by  contact  with  the  varied  minds  of  a  (Jecil,  a  »Iewel,  a 
Sidney,  a  Raleigh,  and  a  Drake,  and  won  the  flattering  acknow¬ 
ledgment  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  conferred  upon  him  the  title 
of  her  young  Lord-keeper. 

At  tiie  age  of  thirteen  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
The  university  was  at  that  time  the  scene  of  much  activity.  The 
works  of  the  great  reformers,  and  recent  investigations  in  mathe- 
inatics,  astronomy,  and  political  philosophy,  gave  birth  to  a  life 
of  dis]nitation  and  contest.  Bacon,  however,  did  not  avail  him¬ 
self  of  those  advantages  of  college  discipline,  wdiich,  by  extending 
his  sphere  of  knowledge,  would  not  only  have  benefited  his 
mind  at  the  time,  but  have  saved  him  from  fault;S  which  mark 
his  subse(|uent  writings.  He  left  Cambridge  with  ‘a  just  scorn 
for  the  trifles  on  whicli  the  followers  of  Aristotle  had  wasted  their 
powers,  and  no  great  reverence  for  Ari.stotle  himself.  As  he 
declared  to  his  secretJiry,  Dr.  Hawley,  he  fell  into  a  dislike  of 
the  philoso])hy  of  Aristotle,  ‘  Jiot  for  the  worthlessness  of  the 
author,  to  whom  he  would  ever  ascribe  high  attributes,  but  for 


LORD  BACON. 


670 

the  unfruitfulness  of  the  way;  being  a  philosophy,  as  his  lordshij» 
used  to  say,  only  strong  for  disputations  and  contentions,  but 
barren  of  the  production  of  works  for  the  benefit  of  the  life  of 
man.* 

In  his  seventeenth  year  he  was  sent  to  Paris,  in  the  suite  of 
Sir  Amias  Paulet,  Queen  Elizabeth’s  ambassador.  This  visit 
had  doubtless  a  lasting  influence  on  his  character.  The  state  of 
a  country  which  had  but  recently  witnessed  the  massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew’s  day,  abidingly  confirmed  his  adherence  to 
Protestant  principles.  He  travelled  through  several  French  pro¬ 
vinces,  and  subsequently  published  the  results  of  his  acute  and 
extensive  observations  in  a  work  entitled  ‘  The  State  of  Europe.’ 

On  receiving  intelligence  of  the  sudden  death  of  hisfatlior, 
Bacon  returned  hastily  home.  His  father  having  died  intestate, 
he  found  himself  bereft  of  pecuniary  resources.  Hence  he  was 
compelled  to  seek  some  lucrative  occupation.  After  having  in 
vain  endeavoured  to  obtain  a  government  post  through  the. 
]>atronage  of  Ids  uncle.  Lord  Burleigh  (who  wished  to  promote 
Ids  ow'ii  son,  afterwards  Sir  Robert  Cecil),  he  enrolled  himself 
as  a  student  at  Gray’s-inn.  For  some  years  he  laboured  in 
obscurity.  At  length,  by  his  profound  acquaintance  with  the 
principles  of  law,  and  his  admirable  talents  and  address,  he 
acquired  such  reputation,  that  the  queen  appointed  him  her 
‘  counsel  extraordinary.*  (1 590.)  Cecil  also  procured  for  him  the 
reversion  of  the  rcgistrarsldp  of  the  Star  Chamber,  w  hich  lucrative 
office  fell  in  after  some  years. 

In  1 593  Bacon  took  his  seat  in  parliament  for  the  county  of 
Middlesex,'  and  soon  became  distingidshed  as  an  orator  and 
debater.  *  There  happened  in  my  time,*  says  Ben  Jonson,  ‘  one 
noble  speaker  who  was  full  of  gravity  in  his  speaking.  His 
language,  where  he  could  spare  or  pass  by  a  jest,  w^as  nobly 
censorious.  No  man  ever  spoke  more  neatly,  more  pressly,  more 
weightily,  or  suffered  less  emptiness,  less  idleness,  in  what  he 
uttered.  No  member  of  his  speech,  but  consisted  of  his  own 
graces.  His  hearers  could  not  cough  or  look  aside  from  him 
without  loss.  He  commanded  where  he  spoke,  and  had  his 
judges  angry  and  pleased  at  his  devotion.  No  man  had  their 
affections  more  in  his  power.  The  fear  of  every  man  wdio  heard 
him  was  lest  he  should  make  an  end.*  In  politics,  however, 
he  made  a  perilous  attempt  to  please  both  court  and  people.  On 
one  occasion,  indeed,  he  delivered  a  vehement  speech  against  the 
crown,  and  was  in  danger  of  being  sent  to  the  Tower,  and 
punished  by  the  Star  Chamber,  but  when  the  queen  gave  forcible 
expression  to  her  indignation,  he  sought  forgiveness  by  promising 
never  to  repeat  the  offence. 

Still  failing  to  obtain  the  patronage  of  Burleigh,  Bacon 


LORD  DACON. 


677 


attached  liimself  to  Essex,  who,  impelled  by  a  generous  friendship, 
endeavoured  to  procure  for  him,  first  the  office  of  attorney- 
general,  then  that  of  solicitor-general ;  but  in  both  cases  he  was 
thwarted  by  the  opposition  of  the  Cecils.  To  mitigate  Bacon’s 
disappointment,  Essex  gave  him  an  estate,  worth  nearly  X'2000, 
at  d’wickenham. 

In  lo|)7  he  published  a  small  volume  of  ‘  Essayes,  Religious 
Meditations,  Places  of  Perswasion  and  Disswasion/  These 
essa\’s  were  popular,  not  only  in  England,  but  also  throughout 
the  whole  of  Eiiroj)e. 

It  is  with  deep  moititication  that  we  notice  his  base  ingratitude 
to  Essex.  When  the  latter  was  prosecuted  for  a  conspiracy  against 
tlie  (jueen,  Bacon,  on  whom  he  had  conferred  so  many  and  such 
substantial  benefits,  and  in  whom  he  had  so  fully  confided,  not 
only  abandoned  him,  but  even  aj)peared  iis  counsel  for  tho  pro¬ 
secution, — nay,  ev^cn  employed  his  learning  and  ingenuity  in 
magnifying  his  crimes  ;  and  to  crown  the  whole,  after  the  execu¬ 
tion  of  Essex,  he  wrote,  at  the  queen  s  request,  ‘  a  declaration  of 
tlie  practices  and  treasons  attempted  and  committed  by  Robert 
Earl  of  Essex.'  ddius,  ‘  this  friend  so  loved,  so  trusted,  bore  a 
principal  part  in  ruining  the  eaiTs  fortunes,  in  shedding  his 
blood,  and  in  blackening  his  memory.’ 

After  the  accession  of  James,  Bacoji  rose  ra])idly  in  fortune 
and  favour.  In  1603  he  was  knighted  ;  in  1601  he  was  appointed 
’  king’s  counsel ;  in  1607  solicitor-general ;  and  in  1613  attornc}"- 
general.  He  distinguished  himself  in  Parliament,  and  espe¬ 
cially,  both  l>y  his  speeches  and  his  writings,  sought  to  bring 
aliout  the  accomplishment  of  James’s  favourite  measure — the 
union  of  England  and  Scotland.  Meanwhile,  he  did  not  neglect 
literature  and  philosophy.  In  1605  he  published  his  ‘Advance¬ 
ment  of  Learning,’  and  in  1600  his  ‘  Wisdom  of  .the  Ancients.’ 
He  was  also  gradually  elaborating  his  ‘  Novum  Organum.'  It  is 
mournful  to  think  that  the  author  of  such  works  should  have 
lent  himself  to  tyranny.  He  was  counsel  for  the  prosecu¬ 
tion  atrainst  Oliver  St  John,  who  was  summoned  before  the 
Star-Chamber  for  maintaining  that  the  king  had  no  right  to 
levy  benevolences ;  and  in  the  case  of  Peacham,  who  was  falsely 
accused  of  treason,  he  not  only  tampered  with  the  judges,  but 
even  joined  in  the  attempt  to  extort  a  confession  from  the  pri¬ 
soner  by  torturing  him  on  the  rack. 

Bacon’s  next  patron  was  Villiers,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the 
favourite  and  master  oi  James.  In  1616  ho  was  sworn  of  the 
privy  council ;  in  1617  he  was  appointed  keeper  ot  the  great  seal, 
an  appellation  which  he  soon  after  changed  for  the  higher  title 
of  chancellor.  In  1621  he  attained  the  zenith  of  his  glory.  He 
had  just  jniblished  his‘  Novum  Organum,’  and  had  been  created 


1 


% 


678  .  LORD  BACON. 

Baron  Verulam,  ainl  then  Viscount  St  Albans.  It  must  not, 
however,  be  concealed  that  in  his  chancellorship  he  issued 
abominable  patents  ;  and  not  only  allowed  V^illiers  to  interfere 
in  his  judicial  decisions,  but  even  accepted  large  bril)es  from 
persons  engaged  in  chancery-suits. 

Retribution  was  at  hand.  After  six  years’  recess,  parliament 
again  met.  The  Commons  discussed  public  grievances,  and 
attacked  the  unrighteous  patents  which  had  shielded  Buckingham 
and  his  followers.  A  committee  was  appointed  to  examine  the 
state  of  the  courts  of  justice.  Two  charges  of  bribery  were 
brought  against  Bacon ;  the  number  soon  rose  to  twenty-three. 
Bacon  drew  up  a  confession,  which  was  handed  to  the  House  of 
Lords  by  the  Prince  of  Wales.  To  the  deputation  of  peers, 
appointed  to  inquire  whether  the  confession  was  subscribed  by 
himself,  he  replied,  ‘  My  lords,  it  is  my  act,  my  hand,  my  heart. 

I  beseech  your  lordships  to  be  merciful  to  a  broken  reed.’  The 
lords  condemned  him  to  ‘  pay  a  tine  of  40,000,  to  be  imprisoned 
in  the  Tower  during  the  king’s  pleasure,  to  be  for  ever  inca}3able 
of  holding  any  public  office,  place,  or  employment,’  and  ‘  never  ’ 
to  ‘sit  in  parliament,  nor  come  within  the  verge  of  the  court.’ 
The  sentence  was  immediately  mitigated.  He  was  sent  to  the 
Tower,  but  liberated  in  two  days.  The  tine  was  released  by  the 
crown.  By  the  year  1624  all  his  punishment  was  remitted. 
Government  granted  him  a  pension  of  .PI  200  a-year. 

During  the  last  five  years  of  his  life  he  commenced  a  ‘  Digest 
of  the  Laws  of  England,’  a  ‘  History  of  England  under  the  House 
of  Tudor,’ a  ‘ Body  of  Natural  Histoiy,’  and  a  ‘Philosophical 
Romance.’  He  also  published  his  ‘De  Augmentis  Scientiarum’ 
in  1623. 

‘The  great  apostle  of  experimental  philosophy,’  says  Mr. 
Macaulay,  ‘  was  destined  to  be  its  martyr.  It  had  occurred  to  him 
that  snow  might  be  used  with  advantage  for  the  purpose  of  ])re- 
venting  animal  substances  from  putrefying.  On  a  very  cold  ilay, 
early  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1 626,  he  alighted  from  his  coach 
near  Highgate  to  try  the  experiment.  He  went  into  a  cottage, 
bought  a  fowl,  and  with  his  own  hands  -stuffed  it  with  snow. 
While  thus  engaged,  he  felt  a  sudden  chill,  and  was  so  much 
indisposed  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  return  to  Gray’s-inn. 
After  an  illness  of  about  a  week,  he  expired  on  the  moniing  of 
Euster-day,  1626.  His  mind  appears  to  have  retained  its  strength 
and  liveliness  to  the  end.  He  did  not  forget  the  fowl  which  had 
causeil  his  death.  In  the  last  letter  that  he  ever  wrote,  with 
fingers  which,  as  he  said,  could  not  steadily  hold  a  pen,  he  did 
not  omit  to  mention  that  the  experiment  of  the  snow  had  suc¬ 
ceeded  excellently  well.’  His  will  contains  the  strikingly  prophetic 
passive — ‘  For  my  name  and  memory  I  leave  it  to  men’s  cliarit- 
able  speeches,  and  to  foreign  nations,  and  the  next  ages.’ 


LORD  BACON. 


679 


His  writings  may  be  divided  into — 1.  Scientific  ;  2.  Moral 
and  Historical  ;  3.  Epistolary  and  Miscellaneous.  His  great 
philosophical  works  are,  ‘  The  Advancement  of  Learning'  (pub- 
lishetl  1605) ;  ‘  Instaiiratio  Magna'  and  ‘  Novum  Organum'  (pub¬ 
lished  1620);  and  ‘  De  Augineutis  Scientiarum'  (published 
1623).  Hallam  remarks,  ‘  I  hiid  upon  comparison  that  more 
than  two-thirds  of  this  treatise  (i.e.  the  ‘  De  Autrmentis  Soien- 
tiarum  )  are  a  version,  with  slight  interpolation  or  omission,  from 
‘  The  Advancement  of  Learning,'  the  remainder  being  new 
matter. 

The  ‘  Instaiiratio  Magna'  is  divided  into  six  parts  : — 

1.  Partitiones  Scientiarum,  intended  to  furnish  a  general 
summary  of  knowledge  alreaily  gained,  and  indications  of  lacunce. 
This  first  part,  Bacon  tells  us,  is  wanting  in  the  ‘  Instauratio 
he  has  substituted  for  it  the  ‘  J)e  Augmentis  Scientianim.' 

2.  The  second  part  was  to  contain  the  new  logic,  or  inductive 
method.  As  far  as  he  coinjdeted  it,  it  is  known  under  the  name 
of  the  ‘Novum  Organum,'  which  was  to  consist  of  nine  parts ;  we 
|x)ssess,  however,  only  the  first. 

3.  The  third  part  was  to  form  an  entire  natural  history,  under 
which  were  to  be  included  one  hundred  and  thirty  particular 
histories.  C)f  course  Bacon,  in  his  age,  could  accomplish  but 
little  of  so  vast  a  work. 

4.  The  finirth  part,  called  Scala  Intellectus,  was  to  supply 
‘  types  and  models,  which  place  before  our  eyes  the  entire  pro¬ 
cess  of  the  mind  in  the  discovery  of  tnith,  selecting  various  and 
remarkable  instances.'  This  part  is  wanting,  except  a  few  intro¬ 
ductory  pages. 

5.  The  fifth  part,  which  Bacon  calls  Prodromi,  sive  Antici- 
j  Hit  tones  PhUosophke  Secunda^  was  to  give  a  sample  of  that 
new  philosophy,  which  was  to  be  erected  on  the  basis  of  his 
natural  history,  and  by  means  of  the  inductive  method.  The 
Coglfaia  et  Vis(fj  Ctpgitatiorics  de  Natura  Rerum,  Filum 
Lahyrinfhi,  and  others,  form  fragments  of  this  part. 

6.  The  sixth  and  last  part,  philosojdtia  aecunda,  was  to 
present  a  complete  system  of  philosophy,  attained  by  the  induc¬ 
tive  method.  ‘  To  perfect  this  last  part,'  he  says,  ‘  is  above  our 
powers  and  beyond  our  hopes.  We  may,  as  we  trust,  make  no 
desjdcable  beginnings;  the  destinies  of  the  human  race  must 
complete  it.' 

‘  Such,'  says  ^Ir.  Hallam,  ‘  was  the  temple,  of  which  Bacon  saw 
in  vision  before  him  the  stately  front  and  deconited  pediments,  in 
all  their  breadth  of  light  and  harmony  of  proportion,  while  long 
vistas  of  receding  columns,  and  glim})se8  of  internal  splendour, 
revealed  a  glory  that  it  was  not  permitted  him  to  comprehend. 
In  the  treatise  ‘  De  Augment  is  Scientiarum,'  and  in  the  ‘  Novum 
Organum,'  we  have  less,  no  doubt,  than  Lord  Bacon,  under 


LORD  RACOX. 


(lifteront  conditions  of  life,  might  In'ive  achieved ;  he  miglit  have 
heen  more  emphatically  the  high-priest  of  Nature,  if  he  had  not 
been  the  chancellor  of  James  L,  hut  no  man  could  have  tilled  up 
the  vast  outline  which  he  alone,  in  that  stage  of  the  world,  could 
have  so  boldly  sketched/ 

The  treatise  ‘  De  Augmentis  Scientiarum’  is  divided  into  nine 
hooks. 

The  first  is  designed  to  remove  prejudices  against  the  investi¬ 
gation  of  truth,  and  to  indicate  the  causes  of  error. 

In  the  second  book  knowledge  is  divided  into — I.  Histor}’. 
TI.  Poetiy.  III.  Philosophy;  corresponding  to  memory,  imagi¬ 
nation,  reason. 

I.  History  comprises,  1.  Natural  Histoiy,  (1)  of  Regular  Pheno¬ 
mena;  (2)  of  Monstrosities  ;  (8  ;  of  the  Arts.  2.  Civil,  or  rather 
Human  History:  (1)  Civil  History  proper ;  (2)  Sacred  History ; 
(8)  Literary  History. 

II.  Poetry  is  divided  into — 1.  Narrative.  2.  Dramatic.  3. 
Pambolic. 

III.  Philo-o}»hy  or  Science.  There  must  be  a  general  science, 
comprising  a  bovly  of  axioms  common  to  all  the  spechil  sciences. 
'Die  speciid  sciences  have  three  principal  objects: — 1.  God. 
2.  Nature  f3rd  Rook].  Natural  science  is  either  speculative  or 
])ractical.  Speculative  natural  science  comprises  physics,  which 
deal  with  material  and  eflicient  causes,  and  metajdiysics,  which 
fleal  with  formal  and  final  causes.  Practical  natural  science  in¬ 
cludes  mechanics,  by  which  Racoii  means  experimentation  in 
general,  and  magic,  or  experimentation  applied  to  the  production 
of  extraordinary  ])lienomena.  Mathematics  are  purely  instru- 
moutal,  and  consist  of  pure  matiiematics  (geometry  and  algebra) 
and  mixed  mathematics. 


The  fourth  to  the  eighth-hooks  treat  of  science  in  relation  to 
its  third  object,  MAX.  There  must  be  an  introductory  science 
exjdaining  personality  and  the  coinmunication  lH‘tween  the  soul 
and  the  hodv.  Tlie  science  of  man  Bacon  then  divides  into 


(1)  The  Science  of  Human  Nature;  and  (2)  The  Science  of 


Givil  Society.  The  former  treats  [ij  of  the  body  (meiliciiie, 
eosmical  science,  gymnastics,  music,  and  painting)  ;  [2J  of  the 
soul,  both  its  substance  and  its  iaculties,  which  are  either  logical 


or  moral.  Logic  is  either  inventive  or  traditive,  and  in  its  latter 
phase  comj»rises  grammar,^  rhetoric,  criticism,  and  l>cdugogy. 


'  Hacou  formed  some  very  sagacious  aiiticipalioiis  about  universal  graiuiuar. 
Hirauuuar,*  ho  observes,  ‘is  of  two  kinds,  tlie  one  literary,  tin*  other  ohiloso- 

I'bieal.  .  .  .  The  latter  directs  the  attention,  not  to  the  analogies  whiciMVords 

i)e.ar  to  word'^,  but  the  analogies  which  words  bear  to  things;’  or,  ‘to  language 
considered  as  the  sensible  portrait  me  or  image  of  the  inciilal  process.’ 


LORD  RACOX. 


681 


Etliics  arc  cither  speculative  (showing  the  natural  history  of 
character),  or  practical  (treating  of  the  culture  of  the  aftectiona). 
Under  the  head  of  the  science  of  civil  society  Bacon  handles  only 
two  points — viz.,  the  methods  of  enlarging  the  boundaries  of  the 
state,  and  the  principles  of  universal  legislation,  lie  says  society 
is  designed  to  secure  sohtmen  contra  solitudinenif  aajuvamcn 
ill  vei/otlisy  and  ailiuvameii  contra  injurias. 

‘The  ninth  and  last  book,  which  is  short,  glances  only  at  some 
ilosiderata  in  theological  science,  and  is  chietly  remarkahle  as  it 
disjdays  a  more  liberal  and  catholic  spirit  than  was  often  to  bo 
met  with  in  a  period  signalized  by  bigotry  and  ecclesiastical 
pride.* 

In  the  ‘  Novum  Organum,*  the  most  important  topic  is  what 
Bacon  terms  tlie  Idola  (tV&tiXo);  i.  e.,  not  idols  as  most  writers 
(e.  g.,  Playfair,  Brown,  Stewart,  Hoppus)  have  suppo.sed  ;  but,  as 
llallam  has  shown,  ‘  images,  illusions,  fallacie.s,  or,  as  Lord  Bacon 
e.alls  them  in  the  ‘  Advancement  of  Learning,*  false  appearances.* 
These  Idola  are  of  four  kinds. 

I.  Idola  Trihns  (of  the  tribe);  illusions  common  to  tlie  Avhole 
tribe  or  race  of  mankiml,  ‘  those  general  })rejudices  which  arise 
from  the  intirmity  of  human  nature  itself.’  ‘  The  understanding 
of  man,*  says  Bacon,  ‘  is  like  a  mirror  whoso  surface  is  not  true, 
and  so  mixing  in  its  own  imperfection  with  the  nature  of  things, 
distorts  and  ])erverts  them.*  The  sources  of  these  Idola  are — 
(1)  *1*00  great  a  tendency  of  the  mind  to  assume  a  greater 
uniformity  in  Nature  than  really  exists.  (2)  A  teinlcncy  in  the 
hmnau  understanding  to  force  all  facts  into  harmony  with  a  j)ro- 
pos.sessed  notion  or  principle.  (8)  A  liability  of  the  mind  rather 
to  be  im]K‘lloil  by  the  imagination  than  guided  by  tlie  under- 
stamling.  (P  The  engernes.s  of  the  mind  to  push  its  investiga¬ 
tions  lieyond  its  proper  limits,  (o)  The  inthienc(M)f  the  will  ami 
the  atlections  on  the  under.standing.  ‘  The  light  of  the  under- 
.standing,*  says  Bacon,  ‘  is  not  a  dry  or  pure  light,  hut  it  receives 
a  tincture  from  the  will  and  the  affections,  and  forms  the  sciences 
accordingly;  for  men  are  most  willing  to  believe  what  tliey  most 
de.sire.’  ((>)  The  diilness,  incompetency,  and  errors  of  the  senses. 
(7)  The  too  great  tendency  of  the  mind  to  aUstraction  and  gene¬ 
ralization. 

II.  Idola  Speens  (of  the  cave  or  den);  ‘those  prejudices  which 
stamp  upon  each  mind  its  own  peculiar  character,  and  are  identi¬ 
fied  with  every  individual  man.*  These  include  the  particular 
studies  which  a  person  pursues,  the  (liffereiico  of  men’s  capa- 
eitie.s,  attachment  to  times  (e.  g.,  anti(piitv),  and  an  exclusive 
predilection  for  the  minute  or  the  vfist  in  nature. 

III.  Idola  Fori  (of  the  market-jdace) ;  ‘  jirejudices arising  froin 
mere  words  and  terms  in  our  common  intercourse  with  mankind, 


682 


LORD  BACON. 


— i.  e.,  from  the  imperfection  of  langinige.  Words  deceive  us 
when  they  are  names  of  things  which  do  not  exist,  or  when  they 
are  confused  and  ill-defined. 

IV.  Idola  Theatri  (of  the  theatre);  illusions  proceeding  from 
the  fabulous  and  visionary  representations  of  jdiilosophical 
theories.  ‘  We  call  them  idols  of  the  theatre/  says  Bacon, 

‘  because  all  the  systems  of  philosophy  that  have  been  hitherto 
invented,  or  received,  are  but  so  many  stage-plays,  which  have 
exhibited  nothing  but  fictitious  and  theatrical  words.’ 

The  next  topic  for  our  consideration  is  Bacon’s  method.  He 
lays  down  the  following  fundamental  principle  as  his  first  and 
leading  a})horism  concerning  ‘  the  interpretation  of  Nature,  and 
man’s  dominion  over  it — ‘  Homo,  naturae  minister  et  interpres, 
tantum  facit  et  intelligit,  quantum  de  naturae  ordine,  re  vel 
mente,  observaverit ;  nec  amplius  scit,  aut  potest.’  (Man  the 
servant  and  inter})reter  of  Nature  can  only  understand  and  act 
in  proportion  as  he  observes  the  order  of  Nature ;  more  he  can 
neither  know  nor  do.)  The  methcKl  he  recommends  for  the 
interpretation  of  Nature  is  called  the  inductive  method.  In 
induction  we  assert,  to  use  the  words  of  Whately,  ‘  that  what 
belongs  to  the  individual  or  individuals  we  have  examined, 
belongs  (certainly  or  probably,  as  the  case  may  be,)  to  the  whole 
class  under  which  they  come.’  The  first  step  in  the  inductive 
process  of  Bacon  is  to  collect  a  natural  history.  We  must  carefully 
and  patiently  gather  a  variety  of  particular  facts  and  instances 
which  relate  to  the  subject  of  inquiry;  we  mu.st  not  rest  satisfied 
with  those  facts  which  spontaneously  present  themselves,  but 
must  institute  experiments  for  the  discovery  of  fresh  ones. 
Being  now'  in  possession  of  a  body  of  facts,  obtained  by  observa¬ 
tion  and  experiment,  we  must  classify  them  into  tables,  and, 
applying  the  method  of  ‘  exclusion,’  reject  those  which  are  irreh‘- 
vaut  to  the  matter  in  hand,  and  gather  the  ‘  vintage’  of  such  as 
are  really  significant.  These  selected  facts  must  then  l)e  ex¬ 
amined  as  to  their  relative  worth.  The  most  important  pheno¬ 
mena  are  called  by  him  ‘  prerogative  instances,’  as  holding  a  kind 
of  prerogative  dignity  from  being  peculiarly  suggestive  of  causa¬ 
tion.  Fifteen  of  these  are  to  guide  the  intellect,  five  to  aid  the 
senses,  and  seven  to  correct  the  practice.  Of  these  twenty-seven 
we  shall  adduce  only  the  most  important.  (1)  IndantiiC  soli- 
teiriic:  ‘examples  of  the  same  quality  existing  in  two  bodies 
otherwise  different,  or  of  a  quality  differing  in  two  bodies  other¬ 
wise  the  same.  In  the  first  instance  the  bodies  differ  in  all 
things  but  one  e.  g.,  crystals,  dew-drops,  wdiich  exhibit  colour 
in  some  situations,  have  nothing  but  the  colour  in  common  with 
stones,  metals,  &c.,  whose  colours  are  pennanent.  (These  examples 
guided  Newton  to  the  discovery  of  the  composition  of  light.)  In 


LORD  BACON. 


683 


the  second  instance,  ‘  the  bodies  agree  in  all  things  but  one  here 
Bacon  adduces  as  exain|>les  the  veins  of  black  and  white  in  marble, 
and  the  variety  of  colours  in  flowers,  where  the  substances  agree  in 
almost  everything  except  colour. 

2.  Instant  lev  mujrantes  exhibits  (jualities  passing  from  less  to 
greater  or  greater  to  less  ;  e.  g.,  glass,  when  whole,  is  colourless  ; 
when  pulverized,  white. 

3.  / nstantue  osteiisivw  are  instances  wdiich  show  some  (piality 
in  its  highest  degree;  e.  g.,  the  barometer  exhibits  the  weight  of 
air,  when  the  impediment  arising  from  pressure  in  all  directions 
is  entirely  removed. 

4.  Instant  la;  con  formes — instances  that  are  parallel  or  ana¬ 
logous, — are  facts  wdiich  resemble  or  are  analogous  to  each  other 
in  some  particulars,  while  very  ditierent  in  all  the  rest.  Bacon 
mentions,  as  examples,  optical  instruments  and  the  eye,  the 
structure  of  the  ear  and  of  caverns  that  yield  an  echo. 

o.  Instant  la  comitatus,  atqiie  hostll^^Sy  are  instances  of  (piali- 
ties  w  hich  alway.s  accompany  each  other  and  the  reverse.  Thus 
tlame  and  heat  always  co-exist,  transparency  and  malleability  in 
solids  are  never  combined. 

6.  Instantla  jci'ucls,  crucial  instances,  are  so  called  from  the 
sign -posts  at  cross  roacls,  because  they  determine  at  once  be¬ 
tween  two  or  more  possible  conclusions.  ‘  These  instances,'  says 
Bacon,  ‘  are  of  such  a  kind,  that,  when  in  search  of  any  nature 
(cause),  the  mind  comes  to  an  equilibrium,  or  is  suspended  be¬ 
tween  tw^o  or  more  causes,  the  facts  decide  the  question  by  re¬ 
jecting  all  the  causes  but  one.'  Suppose  that  up  to  a  certain 
point  in  our  investigations,  two  or  more  causes  seem  to  explain 
a  given  phenomenon  equally  well,  an  experiment  w  hich  decides 
in  favour  of  one  of  them  is  an  experiinentum  crucis. 

Perhaps  in  no  part  of  his  discussion  concerning  the  right 
method  of  investigation,  has  Bacon  rendered  greater  service  to 
the  cause  of  science  than  where  he  inculcates  the  necessity  of  a 
ffradual  ascent  in  our  generalizations.  ‘There  are,'  he  says, 
‘two  ways  of  searching  after  and  discovering  truth;  the  one 
from  sense  and  ])articulars  rises  directly  to  the  most  general 
axioms,  and  resting  upem  these  principles  and  their  unshaken 
truth,  finds  out  intermediate  axioms,  and  this  is  the  method  in 
use ;  but  the  other  raises  axioms  f  rom  sense  and  jKuiJculars  by 
a  continued  and  gradual  ascenty  till  at  last  it  arrives  at  the 
most  general  axioms,  which  is  the  true  way,  but  hitherto  untried.' 

Facts  having  been  collected,  examined,  and  classified,  we  mu.st 
endeavour  to  discover  the  form  of  a  given  object,  i.e.,  its  ultimate 
essence  ;  e.g.,  in  answer  to  the  (piestion.  What  is  heat  ?  What  is 
its  essence  ?  Thus  Bacon  eiToneously  supposes  tliat  the  huinan 
mind  can  discover  what  two  centuries  of  profound  investigation 


084 


LORD  BACON. 


since  his  time  have  in  uo  one  instance  succeeded  in  revealing, 
and  what  in  all  probability  lies  entirely  beyond  the  apprehension 
of  human  faculties. 

Two  other  subjects  of  investigation  are  the  latens  2'>vocessus 
(latent  ])roces8)  and  the  lutcris  schematismus  (latent  schema¬ 
tism.)  By  the  latent  process,  Bacon  seems  to  mean  what  has 
since  been  termed  the  Ui  w  of  continuity,  according  to  which 
quantities  which  change  their  magnitude  or  position,  do  so  bv 
passing  through  all  the  intermediate  magnitudes  or  positions, 
till  the  change  is  completed  ;  e.g.,  in  the  firing  of  a  cannon,  the 
series  of  events  between  the  application  of  the  match  and  the 
expulsion  of  the  ball  is  a  latent  process,  which  can  now  be  pretty 
accurately  traced.  The  latent  sclteniatism  of  bodies,  is  the 
internal  structure  and  arrangement  of  their  parts.  ‘A  proneness.’ 
remarks  Dr.  Hoppus,  ‘to  form  boundless  expectations  as  to 
what  human  power  might  effect,  and,  in  the  very  infancy  of 
j>ractical  science  to  look  for  achievements  higher  than  we  can, 
even  in  its  more  advanced  age,  venture  to  hope  for,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  features  in  the  elevated  and  daring  genius  of 
tliis  great  man.’ 

The  question  has  often  been  raised  and  discussed — Did  Bacon 
intend  and  deem  it  possible  tliat  his  inductive  method  should  be 
applied  to  metaphy.sics  and  moral  subjects?  An  affirmative 
answer  Is  at  once  supplied  by  his  own  express  declarations,  that 
Ids  method  is  applicable  to  logic,  ethics,  politics,  and  metaphysics. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  was  but  to  a  trifling  extent  that  he  applied 
his  principles  and  rules  to  moral  and  metaphysical  subjects,  and 
also  the  entire  structure  of  the  ‘  Novum  Organum’  is  more  espe¬ 
cially  suited  to  physical  investigations.  Nor,  indeed,  can  it  b(* 
denied  that  the  inductive  method  has  peculiar  advantages  in 
physical  inquiries.  For  a  full  and  able  discussion  of  this  point 
^ve  refer  our  readers  to  Hallam’s  ‘  Literature  of  Euroj^e,’  vol.  ii. 
p.  415,  &c. 

Jn  his  disquisitions  on  ethical  subjects  Bacon  displays  an 
eminently  intact ical  spirit.  He  does  not  enter  into  lengthy  dis¬ 
cussions  about  the  principle  and  the  object  of  moral  approbation, 
I'ut  holds  it  to  be  the  main  function  of  moral  science  to  discover 
the  influence  which  customs,  habits,  modes  of  education,  mental 
j)ursuits,  &c.,  exert  upon  human  character,  and  thus  to  lay  down 
tlie  best  mode  of  preserving  and  restoring  moral  health.  On 
these  topics,  as  Stewart  remarks,  ‘he  has  enlarged  more  ably 
and  more  usefully  than  any  writer  since  Aristotle.’  Under  tliis 
head  we  may  mention  the  most  popular  of  all  his  works,  known 
under  the  title  of  ‘  Essays.’  These  essays  are  characterised  by 
an  amazing  pregnancy  and  originality  of  thought ;  an  admirable 
blending  of  ingenuity  and  fancy  with  a  wisdom,  which,  as 


I.ORD  BACON. 


685 


famishing  sage  suggestions  for  the  guidance  of  life,  ‘  comes  homo 
to  men  s  business  and  bosoms  ;*  a  rare  combination  of  solidity  and 
brilliancy;  a  style  which,  while  untainted  by  mere  verbal  con¬ 
ceits,  is  incomparably  striking  and  brilliant,  richly  coloured  with 
metaphors  aiul  analogies.  The  whole  is  pervaded  by  a  sagacious 
and  penetrating,  a  generous  and  catholic  spirit.  In  illustration 
of  these  remarks,  we  shall  quote  the  first  part  of  his  essay  on 
‘  Studies.' 

‘Studios  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability.  Their 
ohief  use  for  delight  is  in  privateness  and  retiring ;  for  ornament  i.s  hi 
discourse;  and  for  ability  is  in  the  judgment  and  disposition  of 
business  ;  for  expert  men  can  execute,  and  perhaj)s  judge,  of  particulars, 
one  by  one ;  but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots  and  mai'shalling  of 
affairs,  come  but  from  those  that  are  learned.  'Fo  spend  too  much  time 
in  studies  is  sloth  ;  to  us(;  them  too  much  for  ornament  is  affectation  ; 
to  make  judgment  wholly  by  their  rules  is  the  humour  of  a  scholar. 
They  perfect  nature,  and  arc  perfected  by  experience ;  for  natund 
abilities  are  like  natural  plants,  they  need  pruning  by  study  ;  and 
studies  themselves  do  give  forth  directions  too  much  at  large,  except 
they  be  bounded  in  by  experience.  Crafty  men  contemn  studies, 
simple  men  admire  them,  and  wise  men  use  them ;  for  they  teach  not 
their  own  use ;  but  that  is  a  wisdom  without  them  and  above  them, 
won  by  observation.  Head  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to 
believe  and  take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse,  but  to 
weigh  and  consider.  Some  books  are  to  bo  tasted,  others  to  be 
swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested ;  that  is,  some 
books  are  to  Ixj  read  only  in  jiarts  ;  others  to  be  read,  but  not  curiously  ; 
and  some  few  to  be  read  wholly,  and  with  diligence  an<l  attention. 
Some  books,  also,  may  be  read  by  deputy,  and  extracts  made  of  them 
by  others  :  but  that  w'ould  be  only  in  the  less  im])ortant  arguments  an<l 
the  meaner  sort  of  bocjks  ;  else,  distilled  books  are,  like  common  dis¬ 
tilled  waters,  llashy  things.  Reading  maketh  a  full  man  ;  conference 
a  ready  man  ;  and  writing  an  exact  man  ;  .and,  therefore,  if  a  man  writo 
little,  he  luul  need  have  a  groat  memory  ;  if  he  confer  little,  he  had 
need  have  a  present  wit ;  and  if  he  reiul  little,  he  had  need  have  much 
cunning  to  seem  to  know  that  he  doth  not.  Histories  make  men  wise  ; 
poets,  witty ;  the  mathematics,  subtle ;  natural  philosophy,  deep ; 
moral,  grave;  logic  and  rhetoric,  able  to  contend.* 

As  .a  theolofiicin,  Bacon  possessed  an  intimate  acqimint.anco 
with  the  Bible,  .and  w.as  a  believer  in  the  truth  of  Ciiris- 
tianity.  He  also  devoted  a  considerable  portion  of  his  time 
to  theologic.al  works,  but  abstained  from  entering  into  any  of 
those  speculative  controversies  on  subtle  points  of  divinity,  which 
at  that  time  engaged  so  much  public  attention  throughout  the 
wliole  of  Europe.  We  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  his  noble 
protest  against  atheism  : — *  I  had  rather  lielievc  all  tlie  tables  in 
the  Legend,  and  the  Talmud,  and  the  Alcoran,  than  that  this 


lord  bacon. 

586  .  While  the  mind  of  inau 

“S.uJ  it  sfoS'S'raSn  s 

Tk«  X  toua  i«  to  ‘lto‘'''J‘>L“2o»«  to™  tot.. 

historian  is  to  bo  opposite  op 

iiig  jpo  limits  of  tlie  preseut  ar  ic  e^  ^jj^^Paiii  ami  Cialk. 

expressed  T  jjg  the  fo-st  instance  in  our 

ourselves  .vitpr  reiuurks^ —  .  ^  \  4.  v^'^soniu'^’’  uii  public 

The  former  ^  plication  of  the  Italians.  Praise 

laugm^e  of  tl  PP  ^Pe  ancients  and  uatuiv 

eventsmtm  im^^^  largely  bestowed^  u 

upon  Henry  much  a  cratty  a  .  yf  his  own 

rf  B.c«.  W  «to.™  ■  ■  ■ 

he  tbougbt,  also,  «  j  ^^ith  passages  arc, 

sovereign  admirable  ^vcat  an 

.  The  History  of  ^^o  ambitiously,  '  Viim  of  the 

seems  to  bo  .  ,  vnd  in  another  passag  ,  ‘  Essays,’ 

absence  of  ‘  ^it^^^tlsertV;  ^ 

sixth,  History  of  Henry  VH.,  politics  ot 

and  also  of  the  rhetoric,  e  ’  ^  £or  their  deep 

compare  ) .'  tpo  historians  Biost  cele  ^^th  Thucydides, 

Aristotle,  or  the  i  f^“'^">l!  ’Hume,  we  ibad,  I 

insij^^ht  luto  cn  Machiavel,  Havi  , 

TaJtus,  Philip  de  Com  i^  ^Inmstbe  eompared  wdU  m 

think,  ojinionof  the  ^j'^^Yg^mus  historical  pieces 

together.  t^iaiK  i  and  altogethei  lelicu  imsuvpassed 

most  amni^l,- f^L  that  ^t  ‘  still  mmam®:  com- 


ill  our  literature  m  ip^yHy  narrative,  in  expi  ‘ 

in  a  vein  of  \uoi  ^  V  Tiuiuction  had 

power  of  writing.  •  far  the  Baconian  ^vas 

^  We,  sh^l  nmv  mqune  ho^  philosophers  and 

hccn  m'l‘''£''JS,thor^of  an  article  m  the  As^‘  \  P,ode 

original.  T  ‘  p  edit.)— •  ,  jp^provcd  by  the 

(vol.  viii.  pp-  »J>  7 >1"  tion,  illustrated  and  mp  ^eiierally 

of  reasoning  by  .  .iq^yum  Organum,  \  later 

great  Lord  e  of  the  rapid  progress  of  s  ^Usthictly 

considered  as  the  c  >  y,,j^  to  Arisfot?e,  an  ‘  •  leads  to 

.f  i'Kfi'rShto  of  to«t.8«to";^S  Steely 

delineated  by  him,  a  That  Aristotle  was  hk  ,  .l  .piithe 

2:«.',ut,  or  ‘to'  to  to;!  “Xto,.  oC  „  e.J 

“"“'"“ieS*  t  to  employol  i-  " 

proper  mateiiais 


LORD  BACON.  687 

experiments.  We  are,  therefore,  led  to  conclude  that  all  the 
blame  of  continiiig  the  human  mind  for  so  long  a  time  in  chains 
by  the  force  of  syllogism,  cannot  be  fairly  imputeil  to  Aristotle ; 
nor  all  the  merit  of  enlarging  it,  and  setting  it  free,  ascribed  to 
Lord  Verulam/  (Ib.  pp.  89,  90.)  After  careful  investigation  of 
this  point,  we  come  to  the  following  conclusion  : — It  cannot 
be  denied  that  Aristotle  clearly  distinguisheil  induction  as  an 
inference  from  the  particular  to  the  universal,  from  deduction  as 
an  inference  from  the  universal  to  the  particular.  But  he  had  no 
conception  of  the  possibility  of  a  valid  process  of  arriving  at  a 
universal  truth,  except  by  an  examination  of  all  the  particulars 
(f£  awttvTwv  Tiov  aTo/jnovj — enumerationfm  per  nimpl iceni). 
Bacon,  on  the  other  hand,  aimed  at  discovering  how,  by  a  careful 
examination  of  the  relative  values  of  a  limited  number  of  par¬ 
ticulars,  we  may,  with  certainty,  attain  to  a  universal  truth. 
Moreover,  Aristotle  gave  but  a  very  meagre  analysis  of  induction, 
and  did  not  perceive  how  the  uniformity  of  the  laws  of  nature 
justities  us  in  dispensing  with  the  necessity  of  examining  all  the 
particulars.  Bacon,  on  the  contrary,  endeavoured  to  show  hmv 
far  the  assumption  of  that  uniformity  may  take  the  jdace  of  a 
com])lete  investigation  of  individual  phenomena. 

We  shall  now  take  up  a  point  which  we  postponed  in  the  earlier 
part  of  our  article — viz.,  the  relation  of  Bacon  to  Descartes. 

‘  Descartes,"  says  Cousin,  ‘  has  established  in  France  j)recisely  the 
same  method  which  England  has  been  eager  to  attribute  exclu¬ 
sively  to  Bacon."  Now,  we  readily  admit  that  Descartes,  as  well 
as  Bacon,  adopted  analysis  as  the  main  instrument  in  jddloso- 
phical  investigation  ;  the  former  applied  it  to  tliovyld,  the  latter 
to  natnre.  What,  however,  were  their  views  concerning  the 
relative  position  of  induction  and  deduction  ?  Htue  a  funda¬ 
mental  difference  presents  itself.  Bacon,  it  is  true,  admits  the 
necessity  of  a  provisional  ‘  anticipation"  of  nature  as  a  gui<le  in 
observation  and  experiment;  and  Descarb^s  maintains  the  value 
of  experiments  in  verifying  the  truths  of  deduction.  But  Bacon 
assigns  to  induction,  Descartes  to  deduction,  the  tii*st  place  as  to 
order  and  importance. 

Macaulay  has  asserted  that  the  merit  of  Bacon’s  scientific 
labours  consists,  not  in  his  rules  for  the  inductive  process,  but  in 
his  su|)plying  motives  for  the  careful  |>ert‘ormance  of  that  [>roce8R. 
We  venture  to  maintain,  on  the  contrary,  that  motives  had 
already  been  furnished,  nay,  that  the  entire  age  was  under  the 
potent  inrtuence  of  these  motives,  but  that  no  one  befon?  Bacon 
discovered  those  rides  which  should  direct  the  awakened 
mental  energy  into  a  well-planned  channel.  Again,  Macaulay 
has  atiirme<l  that  the  only  part  of  the  inductivf*  ]uocess  which 
admits  of  rules,  has  been  and  is  i)eiformcd  perfectly  well  V)y  all 


?  r 


688 


LORD  BACON. 


mankind  without  such  rules  ;  and  that,  therefore,  Eacoii  s  rules 
are  superHuons  and  useless.  Here,  however,  this  distinguished 
writer  plainly  confounds  induction,  as  a  simple,  everyday  infer¬ 
ence,  with  the  inductive  method — a  lengthy  and  complex  train 
of  reasoning ;  these  two  Bacon  repeatedly  distinguishes.  And 
further,  however  little  a  mind  that  has  studied  Bacon's  rules  may 
act  in  conscious  and  designed  accordance  with  them,  yet  it  will 
carry  with  it  into  all  its  researches  the  benefit  of  that  general 
educational  influence,  which  patient  reflection  on  those  rules 
infallibly  exerts.  Moreover,  as  Dr.  Whewell  observes,  ‘  The 
truly  remarkable  circumstance  is  to  find  this  (i.e.,  Bacon's)  recom¬ 
mendation  of  a  continuous  advance  from  observation  by  limited 
steps,  through  successive  gradations  of  generality,  given  at  a  time 
when  speculative  men  in  general  had  only  just  begun  to  ])erceive 
that  they  must  begin  their  course  from  experience  in  some  way 
or  other.' 

Valid  objections  to  Bacon's  philosophical  merits  may,  we 
admit,  be  founded  upon  his  ignorance  of  mathematics,  and  his 
iuade(piate  estimate  of  their  utility ;  his  lack  of  that  ‘  practical 
wisdom  which  results  from  a  long  acquaintance  with  the  actual 
processes  of  philosophical  research  ;'  and  his  exaggerated  opinion 
of  the  value  of  his  ‘  new  organ,'  which,  as  he  supposed,  would 
bring  all  minds  to  nearly  the  same  level,  and  supersede  the 
advantages  of  natural  genius. 

The  early  fame  of  Bacon's  writings  may  be  gathered  from  the 
fact  that  in  1623,  the  TJniversitv  of  Oxford  addressed  him  as  ‘a 
mighty  Hercules,'  as  having  advanced  the  pillars  of  science  : 
at  Cambridge,  his  philosophy  soon  made  great  progress;  the 
Institution  of  the  Royal  Society  filled  England  with  his  fame  ; 
the  writings  of  Boyle,  Hooke,  and  Locke,  exhibited  the  deep 
impress  of  the  Baconian  method  ;  the  genius  of  Newton  found 
the  ground  cleared,  and  the  plan  sketched  for  the  exercise  of  its 
mighty  energies  ;  and  within  half  a  century  the  writings  of  the 
reviver  of  true  philosophy  won  high  applause  throughout  France, 
Italy,  Holland,  and  Germany. 

We  conclude  with  a  general  estimate  of  Bacon's  mental  and 
moral  character.  We  have  already  spoken  to  some  extent  of  his 
mental  abilities.  We  add  the  following  supplementary  remarks : 
His  intellect  was  marked  rather  by  a  wide-ranging  view  of  the 
nature  of  science  in  general  than  by  a  deep  acquaintance  with 
the  minuiioe  of  any  particular  science.  Though  he  was  neither 
a  mathematician,  nor  an  astronomer,  nor  a  chemist,  nor  a  physi¬ 
ologist,  yet  he  had  a  thorough  insight  into  those  essential 
attributes  which  constitute  each  of  these  a  science,  and  the 
relative  positions  which  each  ought  to  occupy  in  the  .special 
applications  of  the  general  principles  of  scientific  inquiry 


LORD  BACON. 


G89 


Whilst  he  made  no  discoveries  himself,  he  taught  the 
'method  by  which  discovades  ave  luude.  In  all  his  investigations, 
lie  was  eminently  practical,  carefully  shunning  abstruse  specula¬ 
tions  and  metaphysical  subtleties.  We  heartily  subscribe  to 
Hallam’s  judgment, — ‘  No  books  prior  to  those  of  Lord  Bacon 
carrieil  mankind  so  far  on  the  road  to  truth;  none  have  obtained 
so  thorough  a  triumph  over  arrogant  usurpation  without  seeking 
to  substitute  another ;  and  he  may  be  comjiared  to  those  liberators 
of  nations  who  have  given  them  laws  by  which  they  might 
govern  themselves,  and  retained  no  homage  but  their  gratitude.' 

Bacon's  moral  charactiT,  with  its  dark  shades  and  lamentable 
defects,  has  been  faithfully  and  graphically  depicted  by  the 
masterly  pen  of  Macaulay  : — ‘The  moral  qualities  of  Bacon  were 
not  of  a  high  order.  We  do  not  say  that  he  was  a  bad  man. 
He  was  not  inhuman  or  tvrannical.  He  bore  with  meekness  his 
high  civil  honours,  and  the  far  higher  honours  gained  by  his 
intellect.  He  was  very  seldom,  if  ever,  provoked  into  treating 
any  person  with  malignity  and  insolence.  No  man  more  readily 
lield  up  the  left  cheek  to  those  who  had  smitten  the  right.  No 
man  was  more  expert  at  the  soft  answer  which  turneth  away 
wrath.  He  was  never  accused  of  intemperance  in  his  j>leasure.s. 
His  even  temper,  his  flowing  courtesy,  the  general  re.spectal>ility 
of  his  demeanour,  made  a  favourable  impression  on  those  who 
saw  him  in  situations  which  do  not  severely  try  the  principles. 
His  faults  were — we  write  it  with  pain — coldness  of  lieart  and 
meanness  of  spirit.  He  seems  to  have  been  incapable  of  feeling 
strong  affection,  of  facing  great  dangers,  of  making  great 
sacrifices.  H  is  desires  were  set  on  thin^xs  below.  Had  his  civil 
ends  continued  to  be  moderate  .  .  .  we  should  not  then  b(‘  com¬ 
pelled  to  regard  his  character  with  mingled  contempt  ami 
admiration — with  mingled  aversion  and  gratitude.  We  .shoidd 
not  then  n'gret  that  there  should  be  so  many  proofs  of  the 
narrowness  and  selfishness  of  a  heart,  the  benevolence  of  which 
was  yet  large  enough  to  take  in  all  races  and  all  ages.  We  .should 
not  then  have  to  blush  for  the  disingenuousness  of  the  most  devotecl 
worshipper  of  speculative  truth — for  the  servility  of  the  boldest 
champion  of  intellectual  freedom.' 

Let  the  life  of  Bacon  engrave  upon  the  reader '.s  heart  the 
warning  of  sacred  writ — ‘Let  not  the  wise  man  glory  in  hi.s 
wisdom,  neither  let  the  mighty  man  glory  in  his  might ;  let  not 
the  rich  man  glory  in  his  riches  ;  but  let  him  that  glorieth,  glory 
in  tliis,  that  he  understandeth  and  knoweth  me,  that  am  the 
Lord,  which  exercise  loving-kindness,  judgment,  and  righteous¬ 
ness  in  the  earth  ;  for  in  these  things  I  delight,  saith  the  Lord. 


N.S. — VOL.  VII 1. 


Y  Y 


688 


LORD  BACON. 


mankind  without  such  rules  ;  and  that,  therefore,  Eacou  s  rules 
are  superfluous  and  useless.  Here,  however,  this  distinguished 
writer  plainly  confounds  induction,  as  a  simple,  everyday  infer¬ 
ence,  with  the  inductive  method — a  lengthy  and  complex  train 
of  reasoning ;  these  tw  o  Bacon  repeatedly  distinguishes.  And 
further,  however  little  a  mind  that  has  studied  Bacon's  rules  may 
act  in  conscious  and  designed  accordance  with  them,  yet  it  w  ill 
carry  with  it  into  all  its  researches  the  benefit  of  that  general 
educational  influence,  which  patient  reflection  on  those  rules 
infallibly  exerts.  Moreover,  as  Dr.  Whew'ell  observes,  ‘  The 
truly  remarkalde  circumstance  is  to  find  this  (i.e..  Bacon's)  recom¬ 
mendation  of  a  continuous  advance  from  observation  by  limited 
steps,  through  successive  gradations  of  generality,  given  at  a  time 
when  speculative  men  in  general  had  only  just  begun  to  perceive 
that  they  must  begin  their  course  from  experience  in  some  way 
or  other.' 

Valid  objections  to  Bacon's  philosophical  merits  may,  we 
admit,  be  founded  upon  his  ignorance  of  mathematics,  and  h’s 
inadequate  estimate  of  their  utility ;  his  lack  of  that  ‘  practical 
wisdom  which  results  from  a  long  acquaintance  with  the  actual 
processes  of  philosophical  research  ;'  and  his  exaggerated  opinion 
of  the  value  of  his  ‘  new  organ,'  which,  as  he  supposed,  would 
bring  all  minds  to  nearly  the  same  level,  and  supersede  the 
advantages  of  natural  genius. 

The  early  fame  of  Bacon's  writings  may  be  gathered  from  the 
fact  that  in  1623,  the  University  of  Oxford  addressed  him  as  ‘a 
mighty  Hercules,'  as  having  advanced  the  pillars  of  science  : 
at  Cambridge,  his  philosophy  soon  made  great  progress;  the 
Institution  of  the  Royal  Society  filled  England  with  his  fame  ; 
the  writings  of  Boyle,  Hooke,  and  Locke,  exhibited  the  deep 
impress  of  the  Baconian  method  ;  the  genius  of  Newton  found 
the  ground  cleared,  and  the  plan  sketched  for  the  exercise  of  its 
mighty  energies  ;  and  within  half  a  century  the  witings  of  the 
reviver  of  true  philosophy  won  high  applause  throughout  France, 
Italy,  Holland,  and  Germany. 

We  conclude  with  a  general  estimate  of  Bacon's  mental  and 
moral  character.  W e  have  already  spoken  to  some  extent  of  his 
mental  abilities.  We  add  the  follow  ing  supplementary  remarks : 
His  intellect  was  marked  rather  by  a  wdde-ranging  view  of  the 
nature  of  science  in  general  than  by  a  deep  acquaintance  wdth 
the  minutice  of  any  particular  science.  Though  he  w^as  neither 
a  mathematician,  nor  an  astronomer,  nor  a  chemist,  nor  a  physi¬ 
ologist,  yet  he  had  a  thorough  insight  into  those  essential 
attributes  which  constitute  each  of  these  a  science,  and  the 
relative  positions  wdiich  each  ought  to  occupy  in  the  .special 
applications  of  the  general  principles  of  scientific  inquiry 


LORD  BACON. 


689 


Whilst  he  made  no  discoveries  hiinscdf,  he  taught  the 
'method  by  which  discoveries  are  vinde.  In  all  his  investigations, 
he  was  eminently  practical,  carefully  shunning  abstruse  sf)ecula- 
tions  and  metaphysical  subtleties.  We  heartily  subscribe  to 
Hallatu's  judgment, — ‘  No  books  prior  to  those  of  Lord  Bacon 
carrieil  mankind  so  far  on  the  road  to  truth ;  none  have  obtained 
so  thorough  a  triumph  over  arrogant  usurpation  without  seeking 
to  substitute  another ;  and  he  may  be  compared  to  those  liberators 
of  nations  who  have  given  them  laws  bv  winch  thev  might 
govern  themselves,  and  retained  no  homage  but  their  gratitude.' 

Bacon's  moral  charaettT,  with  its  dark  shades  and  lamentable 
defects,  has  been  faithfully  and  graphically  depicteil  by  the 
masterly  pen  of  Macaulay  : — *  The  moral  qualities  of  Bacon  were 
not  of  a  high  order.  We  do  not  say  that  he  was  a  bad  man. 
He  was  not  inhuman  or  tyrannical.  He  bore  with  meekness  his 
high  civil  honours,  and  the  far  higher  honours  gained  by  his 
intellect.  He  was  very  seldom,  if  ever,  provoked  into  treating 
any  person  with  malignity  and  insolence.  No  man  more  readily 
held  up  the  left  cheek  to  tho.se  who  had  smitten  the  right.  No 
man  was  more  expert  at  the  soft  answer  which  turneth  away 
wrath.  He  was  never  accused  of  intemperance  in  Ids  pleasures. 
His  even  temper,  his  flowing  courtesy,  the  general  respectability 
of  his  demeanour,  made  a  favourable  impression  on  those  who 
.«^aw  him  in  situations  which  do  not  severely  try  the  principles. 
His  faults  were — we  write  it  with  pain — cfddness  of  heart  and 
meanness  of  spirit.  He  seems  to  have  been  incapable  of  feeling 
strong  aftection,  of  facing  great  dangers,  of  making  great 
sacrifices.  His  desires  were  set  on  things  ])elow.  Had  his  civil 
ends  continued  to  be  moderate  .  .  .  we  should  not  then  bo  com¬ 
pelled  to  regard  his  character  with  mingled  contempt  and 
admiration — with  mingled  aversion  and  gratitude.  We  shoiild 
not  then  regret  that  there  should  be  so  many  proofs  of  the 
narrowness  and  selfishness  of  a  heart,  the  benevolence  of  which 
was  yet  large  enough  to  take  in  all  races  and  all  ages.  We  should 
not  then  have  to  blush  for  the  disingenuousness  of  the  most  devoted 
worshipper  of  speculative  truth — for  the  servility  of  the  boldest 
champion  of  intellectual  freedom.' 

Let  the  life  of  Bacon  engrave  upon  the  reader's  heart  the 
warning  of  sacred  writ — ‘  Let  not  the  wise  man  glory  in  his 
wisdom,  neither  let  the  mighty  man  glory  in  his  might ;  let  not 
the  rich  man  glory  in  his  riches  ;  but  let  him  that  glorieth,  glory 
in  this,  that  he  understandeth  and  knoweth  me,  that  I  am  the 
Lord,  which  exercise  loving-kindncs.s,  judgment,  and  righteous¬ 
ness  in  the  earth  ;  for  in  these  things  I  delight,  saith  the  Lord.' 


N.S. — VOL.  VIII. 


Y  Y 


Art.  IV. — llippolytus  and  his  Aye ;  or^the  Beginnings  and  Prospects 

of  Christianity.  Second  Edition.  Two  Volumes.  8vo.  ])j). 

5U5,  itd.  By  Christian  Charles  Josias  Bunsen,  D.C.L.,  D.Bli. 

2.  Analecta  Ante-yiccuna.  Three  Volumes.  Svo.  pp.  111,520,  l‘JG. 

By  the  Same. 

3.  Outlines  of  the  Philosophy  of  Universal  History,  applied  to  Lan¬ 

guage  and  Pcligion.  Two  Volumes.  Svo.  pp.  521,  ISS.  liy 

the  Same.  London  :  Longman  &  Co.  1S51. 

At  the  time  of  tlie  publication  of  the  first  edition  of  ‘  lIi])polytus 
and  his  Age,'  two  years  since,  its  author  held  the  post  of  Prussian 
ambassiulor  at  the  court  of  our  sovereign,  a  position  which  he  has 
since  earned  the  a}>plause  of  Europe  by  sacriticing  rather  than 
])ander  to  the  truckling  Kussian  policy  of  his  royal  master  in  the 
Eastern  (piestion.  It  was  amidst  the  pressure  of  arduous  duties 
devolving  u})on  him  in  this  highly  responsible,  and  then  honour¬ 
able  capacity,  that,  by  the  ))roduction  of  this  work,  he  confirmed 
the  favourable  impression  })reviously  made  by  bis  ^  Egypt,'  and 
won  for  himself,  although  a  foreigner,  a  place  in  the  very  lirst 
rank  of  English  contem})orary  literature.  Uur  readers  will  not 
have  forgotten  the  sensation  which  the  book  created,  not  only  in 
all  theological  circles,  but  amongst  educated  people  in  general. 
No  person,  with  any  ])retensions  to  intelligence,  could  afford  to 
be  ignorant  of  a  ]>henomenon  which  divided  with  ‘  Uncle  Tom' 
the  literary  chit-chat  of  the  day.  The  daily  journals  made  it  the 
text  of  long  columns  of  news] ui per  sermonizing  for  the  edilication 
of  their  astonished  readers.  Country  editors,  as  usual,  took  their 
cue  from  their  brethren  in  the  metropolis,  and  amiable  curates 
were  }>olitely  requested  to  dribble  out  a  few  drops  from  the  full 
fountain  of  their  jhatristic  lore,  that  poor  benighted  Earmer  CJiles 
in  his  chimney-corner  might  read,  for  the  fii-st  time  in  his  life, 
the  talismanic  name  of  llipix)lytus.  Monthlies  and  (juarterlies, 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  were  uneasy  until  they  had  had  their  say 
u]>on  the  subject,  and  bad  made  their  patrons  an  courani  with 
the  topic  of  the  hour.  The  work,  as  was  natural,  soon  found  its 
way  to  the  continent,  and  we  are  informed  that  the  enthusiasm 
it  excited  amongst  the  author's  countrymen  was  even  greater 
than  that  with  which  it  was  received  here.  Its  awkward  dis¬ 
closures  concerning  the  secret  history  of  the  Boman  see  during 
the  former  half  of  the  third  century,  given  upon  the  authority  ot 
the  long  lost,  but  hap}>ily  recovered,  treatise  of  lli})polytus, 
himself  a  contemporary  and  eye-witness  of  the  whole,  roused  the 
ire  of  the  papacy,  whose  chief  lost  no  time  in  setting  the  seal  of 
his  church  to  the  immortality  of  the  obnoxious  book,  by  putting 


UIPPOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE.  691 

it  in  the ‘Index.'  The  cry,  Ifannibal  ad  portas  f  was  raised 
and  the  champions  of  the  catholic  faith  from  Oanl  and  Germany 
rushed  to  the  rescue.  Certainly  it  was  a  most  inconvenient 
cocpose,  and  no  doubt  fervent  and  deep  have  been  the  wishes  in 
that  quarter  that  ^I.  Yilleinain  and  the  Greek,  AlynoYdes  Mynas, 
whom  he  sent*  on  his  ill-starred  literarv  mission  in  search  of 
ancient  manuscripts,  had  been  sunk  together  in  the  HellesjKmt 
before  they  disturbed  the  codtw  which  was  so  comfortably 
rotting  on  the  dunghill  of  the  monastery  on  Mount  Athos. 
However,  there  it  was,  and  in  print,  too,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
find  something  to  say  to  the  Prot(‘stants,  when  they  should  Hout 
the  advocates  of  papal  inlallibility  with  this  pretty  piece  of 
scandal.  Here  was  a  canonized  saint,  ]>ope,  and  martyr,  St. 
Callistus,  charged  by  a  canonized  saint,  bishop,  and  martyr,  no 
less  a  person  than  8t.  Hij)])olytus,  with  being  nothing  l)etter 
than  a  swindler,  a  convict,  a  heretic,  an  anabaj)tisf,  a  shameless 
impostor,  and  a  greedy  trafficker  in  souls.  11  is  vaunted  mar¬ 
tyrdom  was  shorn  of  its  rays  of  glory,  and  resolved  into  a  vulgar 
attempt  of  a  desperate  cul|)rit  to  commit  suicide.  Well  might 
French  nhhes  scream,  and  German  ]^rofessors  at  catholic  univer¬ 
sities  draw  their  ])ens  and  seize  the  golden  o])]K)rtunity  (►f  writing 
themselves  into  the  good  graces  of  the  C^iria.  We  felt  naturally 
inquisitive  to  see  how  Rome  would  wriggle  out  of  this  new  diffi¬ 
culty.  Of  course  we  did  not  exj^ect  that  she  would  1h‘  at  a  loss 
for  expedients,  even  in  so  desperate  a  case.  Rut  we  confess  we 
were  hardly  prepared  for  the  amusing  exhibition  which  luas  been 
got  up  for  our  edilication.  The  Abbe  dallabert  luis  hit  upon  tlie 
lucky  discovery,  that  the  obnoxious  treatise  must  have  been 
written  by  TertuHian,  who,  being  a  mere  Montanist  heretic,  has 
of  course  no  right  to  bo  heard.  Unfortunately  for  this  theory, 
the  author  of  the  work  exjiressly  condemns  Montanism  as  heresy, 
so  that,  if  TertuHian  wrote  it,  he  must  have  done  so  as  a  (Catholic. 
The  opinion  is,  besides,  too  absurd  to  merit  refutation,  and  no 
one  has  ventured  to  endorse  it,  not  even  M.  Jallabort’s  friend, 
the  Cdnon  Cruice,  who  styles  himself  Siqierior  of  the  School  of 
High  Ecclesiastical  Studies  at  Paris.  These  high  ecclesiastical 
studies  must  now,  we  imagine,  be  in  a  rather  poor  condition  in 
the  country  of  Tillemont,  Hiqiin,  Pagi,  and  Fleury,  if  we  may 
judge  from  the  trash  which  M.  Cniice  has  printed  upon  the 
‘  Philosophumena'  Even  he,  however,  though  he  looks  wistfully 
towards  the  hypothesis  of  his  countryman,  and  affects  to  think 
there  is  much" to  be  said  for  it,  jirefers,  upon  the  whole,  to  leave 
the  question  of  authorship  undetermined. 

The  Suptjrior  s  book  is  (iuite  refreshing  for  its  stupidity  and 
thoroughly  French  luiivete.  It  <loes  one  good  to  see  from  his 
shrugs,  grimaces,  and  contortions,  how  extremely  unpalatable 

Y  Y  2 


•  mM 


I 


692 


IIIPPOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE. 


the  Hippolytan  disclosures  are  to  the  ultramontane  party.  Of 
argument  hifi  h'oclnirc  is  as  innocent  as  his  own  sacerdotal  crown 
is  of  capillary  attraction,  and  the  region  beneath  of  something 
still  more  important ;  but  of  entertainment  there  is  jdcntv. 
So  far  from  softening  down  the  crimes  laid  to  the  charge 
of  Callistus  by  the  writer  of  the  anonymous  treatise,  he  expatiates 
upon  their  enormity  with  virtuous  indignation,  and  then  asks 
us  whether  it  is  possible  that  a  wretch  guilty  of  such  mon¬ 
strosities  could  ever  have  been  elected  to  the  chair  of  Peter, 
or  could  have  been  retained  in  it  an  instant  after  the  detection 
of  his  villany?  There  must,  therefore,  be  some  mystitication, 
which,  however,  he  does  not  profess  to  be  able  (modest  man  that 
he  is)  perfectly  to  clear  up.  Yet  not  to  leave  his  bewildered 
readers  wholly  in  the  dark,  the  Superior  of  the  School  of  High 
Ecclesiastical  Studies  will  not  withhold  from  them  his  measure  of 
light.  Accordingly  he  whispers  in  confidence  the  reassuring  words: 

‘  It’s  the  wrong  man'  This  suggestion  is  the  gem  of  the  hook, 
and  ought  to  be  rewarded  with  a  cardinars  hat  at  least.  Cruice 
points  mysteriously  to  a  fragment  of  Apollonius,  a  Christian 
writer  of  the  second  century,  which  Eusebius  (Hist.  Eccles.  v.  1<S) 
has  preserved,  in  which  we  find  the  counterpart  of  the  story 
of  Callistus  as  contained  in  the  ‘  Philosophumena.’  There 
one  Alexander,  a  Montanist,  who  gave  himself  out  for  a 
martyr,  is  accused  by  Ajxdlonius  of  having  been  convicted 
before  the  Proconsul  of  Ephesus,  iEinilius  Frontinus,  of  being  a 
swindler.  It  is  true  that  names,  time,  and  scene  are  (juite 
difterent  in  the  two  cases.  But  by  some  Itocus-pocns  which  the 
ahhe  does  his  b(‘st  to  ex])lain,  he  is  convinced  that  the  two 
swindlers,  Alexander  of  Ephesus  and  Pope  Callistus,  the  Pro- 
consul  of  that  city,  Frontinus,  and  the  Prefect  of  Rome,  Fuscianus, 
mentioned  by  the  author  of  the  ‘  Philosophumena,’  the  metropolis 
of  the  world,  and  the  metropolis  of  Asia  Elinor,  have  all  exchanged 
parts  in  this  strange  comedy  of  errors.  No,  M.  Cruice  ;  writhe  as 
you  may,  it  will  only  afibrd  us  the  more  sport,  and  not  extricate 
3’ou  and  your  church  from  the  embarrassments  of  the  cause 
cdthre — ‘  St.  Hippolytus  v.  St.  Callistus.’  In  the  words  of  our 
own  Iron  Duke,  there  is  no  mistake — there  can  be  no  mistake — 
ami  there  shall  be  no  mistake. 

Catholic  Germany,  as  represented  by  Professor  Dollinger  of 
Munich,  has  shown  far  more  adroitness  in  meeting  the  emergency 
than  catholic  France.  He  is  evidently  a  man  of  real  learning,  and 
his  work  contains  much  valuable  information.  He  admits  without 
reserve  the  authorship  of  Hippolytus,  and  ridicules  the  opposing 
pretensions  which  have  been  advanced  in  favour  of  Origen  and  the 
presbyter  Cains  of  Rome.  He  denies,  however,  that  Hippolytus 
was  ever  Bishop  of  Portus  (the  harbour  of  Rome,  at  the  mouth  of 


HIPPOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE. 


G93 


the  Tiber),  and  contends,  on  the  other  hand,  that  he  was  an  anti¬ 
pope  to  Callistus.  Hence  the  bitterness  of  his  accusjitions  against 
the  latter.  To  save  the  credit  of  Hippolytus,  whom  Professor 
Dollinger’s  church  has  dubbed  a  saint  and  a  martyr,  he  invents  the 
fiction  of  his  having  been  subsequently  reconciled  to  the  catholic 
communion  shortly  before  his  martyrdom.  To  wash  such  a 
blackamoor  as  Callistus  white  was,  of  course,  a  most  painfully 
laborious  operation.  But  the  feat  has  been  so  cleverly  accom¬ 
plished,  that  after  coming  out  of  the  SiicerdoUil  laver,  the  swarthy 
complexion  of  the  maligned  pontiti*  hius  completely  vanished, 
Callistus  is  himself  again,  and  answers  to  the  signification  of  his 
name,  which,  as  our  readers  need  not  be  informed,  means  ‘  most 
fair,^  or  ‘  a  very  pretty  fellow.'  Such  a  masterj)iece  of  sj)ecial 
pleading  as  Professor  DiJllinger  s  a])ology  for  this  peccant  poi)e  of 
the  third  century  it  has  never  been  our  good  fortune  to  meet 
with.  It  beats  Sir  Fitzroy  Kelly's  celebrated  ‘  aj)ple-t)i})'  speech, 
in  behalf  of  the  murderer  Tawell,  hollow.  The  Alunich  professor 
is  duly  noticed  in  the  preface  to  this  second  edition  of  the 
Chevalier  Bunsen's  work,  along  with  all  other  o})ponents. 

It  is  not  our  practice  to  do  more  than  simply  chronicle 
the  a})pcarance  of  new  editions.  The  present  case  might 
seem  to  justify  a  departure  from  the  rule,  since  we  have  here 
substantially  a  new  work,  or  rather  three  new  works.  But 
we  must  not,  even  on  so  tempting  an  occasion,  widely  deviate 
from  our  course.  When  books  expand  in  triplicate  ratio, 
reviewers  may  well  tremble  and  ask  whether  the  i)rogression  is 
to  be  in  geometrical  or  only  in  arithmetical  proportion,  since  in 
the  foiiner  case  the  tenth  edition  of  ‘  Hippolytus  and  his  Age' 
will  about  lill  the  Bodlei.an  Library.  We  have  heard,  to  our 
dismay,  that  the  Chevalier  is  writing  away  at  the  rate  of  sixteen 
hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  in  his  beautiful  German  villa,  and 
begin  to  wish  that  the  war  was  over,  if  only  for  the  siike  of  getting 
him  safely  ensconced  again  at  Carl  ton-terrace,  with  a  few  hirsute 
Westphalians  to  tease  him,  and  an  occasional  despatch  to  fire  off. 

Of  the  two  volumes  constituting  the  first  of  the  three  works, 
the  second  contains  comparatively  little  new  matter,  what  there 
is  consisting  almost  entirely  of  foot-notes  designed  to  correct, 
modify,  or  explain  statements  in  the  text.  The  former  halt  ot 
the  first  volume,  which  may  be  described  as  a  history  of  the 
church  during  the  first  seven  generations,  has  been  entirely 
recast,  and  in  such  a  way  as  cannot  fail  to  gratify  thoughtful  and 
intelligent  readers.  The  latter  half  of  the  same  volume  is  little 
more  than 
which  formed 

Ante-Nicaiiia'  constitutes  a  most  valuable  contribution  to  our 
patristic  and  ecclesiastical  literature.  The  ‘Aphorisms'  with 


a  reprint  of  the  five  letters  to  Archdeacon  Hare, 
L*d  the  vestibule  of  the  first  edition.  The  ‘  Analecta 


I 


C94 


HIPrOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE. 


which  tlie  second  volmne  of  the  original  edition  opened,  are  the 
gemi  out  of  which  the  ‘  Outlines  of  the  Philosophy  of  Universal 
History"  have  been  developed.  But  of  the  ])rocess  which  lias 
resulted  in  the  metamorphosis  before  us  we  cannot  do  better  than 
let  the  Chevalier  speak  for  himself. 

*  I  have,’  he  says,  ‘  reduced  Ilipjadytus  and  his  age  to  two  historioiil 
pictures  in  two  volumes.  That  of  the  hero  of  the  work  himselt’  is 
entirely  new.  I  have  j>laced  the  portrait  of  the  Bishop  of  I’ortus  in 
its  ])roper  frame.  He  is  here  considered  as  one  of  those  Oliristian 
teachers,  governors,  and  thinkers  who  made  Christianity  what  it 
became  as  a  social  system,  and  as  one  of  thought  and  ethics;  a  noble 
chain  of  which  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  are  the  first  links,  and  llip- 
polytus  and  Origen  the  last.  In  this  manner  the  age  of  llip])olytus 
had  alri‘ady  been  treated  in  the  third  volume  of  the  first  edition.  1 
had  there  shown  that  his  time  was  the  last  stage  of  that  woinhTful 
lifi‘  of  the  Christian  eongregations,  which  regenerated  the  world  in  the 
midst  of  persecutions,  and  of  general  decay  and  destruction.  'I'his 
picture  forms  the  second  volume  of  the  new  edition.  The  first  volume 
gives  the  jneture  of  llip])olytus  among  the  series  of  the  leading  men 
of  t1u‘  first  seven  generations  of  Christians,  as  the  second  ])resents  that 
of  his  age,  and  generally  of  the  ancient  church,  in  its  discipline  and 
constitution,  its  worship,  and  social  relations.  'fhis  sirond  volume 
concludes  with  the  tiction  of  the  ‘Apology  of  Hippolytus’  as  the 
uniting  ]>icture.  Such  a  liction  appeared  to  me  the  only  means  of 
])resenting  our  hero  in  action  together  with  his  age,  and  of  bringing 
him  and  the  whole  real  line  of  ancient  Christendom  nearer  to  our  own 
times  and  our  own  hearts.’ — Preface,  p.  vi. 

So  much  fortho  first  of  these  three  works,  ‘Hy}>])olytus  and  his 
Age."  Of  the  new  matter,  we  have  been  chietly  struck  with  the 
exhibition  of  the  Onostio  systems  of  Valentinus,  Basilides,  and 
U  arcion,and  with  the  sudden  change  which  has  taken  place  in  the 
Chevalier’s  view  of  our  old  friend  the  ‘Shepherd  of  Hennas."  Every 
tvro  in  church  historv  knows  what  a  mysterious  interest  attaches 
to  the  names  of  the  threi*  great  Gnostic  heresiarchs  of  the  former 
half  of  the  second  centiuy,  and  those  who  have  gone  most  deejuy 
into  the  subject  are  be.st  aware  of  the  seemingly  insurmountable  ilil- 
ficulty  of  arriving  at  anvthing  like  clear  and  satisfactory  ideas  of 
their  ivspective  doctrinal  systems.  Their  works  have  survived 
only  in  fragments,  which,  until  the  recoyery  of  the  long-lost 
treatise  of  ‘  Hip])olytus,"  were  intinitesimally  small  and  few.  But 
even  had  their  writings  been  suffered  by  the  zeal  of  their  oppo¬ 
nents  to  be  handed  down  entire,  their  speculations  are  so  abstruse, 
ami  tin'  garb  in  which,  with  the  exception  of  Harcion"s,  they  were 
carefully  shrouded  from  the  gaze  of  all  but  the  esoteric  disciples, 
pi  oves  so  eft'ectual  a  disguise,  that  nothing  short  of  the  most 
patient  attention  and  the  closest  thinking  can  hope  to  .succeed  in 
dis  engaging  them  from  the  fantastic  and  motley  envelope.  Ne- 


HIPPOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE. 


695 


ander,  Baur,  and  others,  have  done  something  towards  translating 
these  ancient  semi-Christian  systems  of  religious  philosophy  into 
the  language  of  more  modern  schools,  and  would  doubtless  have 
accomplished  more  had  the  additional  sources  which  the  treatise 
of  ‘  Hippolytus'  puts  us  in  possession  of,  been  at  their  command. 
Professor  Jacobi,  of  Konigsburg,  endeavoured  lately,  with  the 
help  of  tliese  new  fragments,  to  reconstruct  the  system  of  Basi- 
lides,  (Basilidis  Philosojdii  Gnostici  8i‘ntentiiis  ex  llippolyti 
Libro  Kara  llaacue  Aifncrtiov  nuper  rej)erto  illustravit  J.  L. 
Jacobi,  Berolini,  1852;)  but  tliegeneral  opinion  of  the  learned  seems 
to  be  that  his  monogra})h  upon  the  subject  is  somewhat  of  a 
failure.  We  are  not  sure  that  the  Chevalier’s  delineation  of  either 
Basilidianism  or  of  Marcionism  will  be  regarded  as  ([uite  siitis- 
factory,  although  he  seems  to  us  to  advance  the  problem  nearer 
solution.  After  reading  his  expositions  one  begins  to  have 
a  glimmeringof  the  import  of  the  strange  hieroglyphics.  On  the 
other  hand,  his  analysis  of  \"alentinianism  is  a  real  triumph,  for 
which,  however,  as  he  frankly  owns,  he  is  mainly  indebted  to  the 
previous  labours  of  llossell,  whose  admirable  picture  of  the 
system  he  has  wisely  introduced  entire  into  his  own  work,  llos- 
sell’s  masterly  sketch  of  Valentinus  is  worthy  of  a  pu|)il  and 
friend  of  the  great  Neander,  and  with  the  Chevalier’s  comments, 
should  be  carefully  studied  by  every  one  who  is  resolved  to  <lig 
down  to  the  roots  of  the  history  of  Christian  doctrine.  The 
ancient  church-teachers  were  evidently  not  wholly  in  the  wrong 
Avhen  they  saw  in  Valentinus  the  foreruniKu*  of  Arius,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  follow  up  intelligently  the  ramiliciitions  of  later 
controversies  which  shook  Christendom  to  its  foundations  with¬ 
out  some  understanding  of  the  leading  Gnostic  systems,  whence 
they  may  most  truly  be  said  to  have  s|»rung. 

The  ‘Shepherd  of  Hennas,’ which,  in  his  tirst  edition,  the  Cheva¬ 
lier  had  styled,  ‘that  dull  novel  which  Niebuhr  used  to  say  he  [litied 
the  Athenian  Christians  for  being  obliged  to  hear  r(‘ad  in  their 
ineetimrs/it  is  amusing  to  tind  him  now  characterize  as  ‘oneof  those 
books  wliicli,  like  the  ‘  Diviiia  Comediii  ami  Ihinyan  s  ‘  l’iloriiu  .s 
Pi  •Ogress,’  captivate  the  mind  by  the  united  power  of  thought 
and  fiction,  both  drawn  from  the  genuine  depths  of  the  human 
Soul.’  He  is  now  convinced  that  it  is  far  more  lively  than  most 
sermons  with  which  he  is  accpi.ainted. 

‘  The  hook,’  ho  says,  ‘  certainly  does  not  ])ossess,  what  a  learned 
Knglisli  divine  considers  as  the  criterion  ot  a  treatise  destined  to  reveal 
to  the  initiated  the  mysteries  ol  laith — namely,  a  great  <jnantity  ol 
(juotations  from  Scripture.  Our  hook,  ealled  hy  the  talhers  ‘tin*  Serip- 
ture,’*  does  not  (piote  Scripture,  although  many  passages  in  it  allude 


*  Irciiicus  is  the  only  father  who  gives  it  this  title. 


696 


HIPPOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE. 


to  tlie  Gospel,  aiicl  though  it  is,  from  beginning  to  end,  based  uj)on  the 
great  truths  proclaimed  in  the  canonical  Scripture  (p)  1  confess  1 
cannot  help  believing  that  this  method  fully  satisfied  its  contemporaries, 
and  indeed  the  most  enlightened  Christians  of  the  following  centuries. 
Perhaps  even  they  thought  it  to  lie  the  peculiar  charm*  of  the  book, 
that  it  was  not  a  sermon  stuffed  with  quotations  from  the  Seriptures, 
but  rather  one  that  gave  evidence  of  the  intiuence  and  power  of  the 
same  S}>irit  which  had  presided  at  their  composition  (!),  and  that  it 
was  inspired  (!)  by  the  contemidation  of  the  great  individual  centre  of 
all  Serijdure.  Such  a  com])Osition  ‘The  Shepherd’  really  is;  and  it 
has  further  the  merit  of  brevity,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  all 
sermons.’ — Vol.  i.  pp.  1S3,  184. 

This  last  fling  at  the  divines  is  peculiarly  unfortunate.  There 
may  he  room  for  diflerence  of  opinion  as  to  the  literary  and 
theological  merits  of  this  curious  production  of  the  Homan  Chris¬ 
tianity  of  the  middle  of  the  second  century.  Some  may  think 
with  Niebuhr,  and  with  the  w  riter  of  the  sentence  w  hich  w  e  have 
extracted  from  the  first  edition  of  ‘  Hippolytus  and  his  Age,'  that 
it  is  insufferably  dull,  and  others  may,  with  the  Chevalier,  in  his 
second  edition,  place  it  by  the  side  of  Dante's  immortal  poem, 
and  Bunyan's  inimitable  allegory^  So  again,  some  wdth  Irenants, 
and  our  author  in  his  last  ex  cathedra  judgment,  may  class  it 
with  the  inspired  w  ritings  ;  and  others,  with  a  host  of  theologians 
of  all  Christian  communions,  Ilomanist  and  Protestant,  orthodox 
and  heterodox,  may  deem  its  doctrinal  complexion  to  be  but  a 
shade  or  tw^o  removed  from  the  poorest  Ebionitism.  But  its 
length  is  a  matter  easily  settled.  We  know  not  what  sermons 
the  Chevalier  is  in  the  habit  of  reading,  for  as  to  hearing  w  e  will  say 
nothing,  since  the  rumour  which  makes  him,  like  Lord  Eldon,  a 
buttress  rather  than  a  ])illar  of  the  church,  cannot  charitably  be 
supposed  to  be  tnie.  But  this  w’e  do  know,  that  sennonsas  long, 
and,  to  quote  the  Chevalier’s  owui  word,  as  ‘  dull’  too,  as  the 
‘‘Shepherd,’  are  such  outrageous  exceptions  to  the  rule,  that  he 
must  be  as  great  an  antiquary  in  this  sort  of  literature  as  he  is 
knowui  to  be  in  prayer-books  and  hymnody,  if  he  has  met  with 
many  such.  This  also  w  e  know,  that  for  one  who,  like  our  author, 
lionourably  aspires  to  the  dignity  of  a  reformer,  to  sneer  at  the 
Christian  pulpit  is  a  capital  mistake. 

The  lollowdng  is  the  Chevalier’s  account  of  the  genesis  of  the 
tw  o  works  w’hich  form  the  sequel  or  introduction  (we  can  scarcely 
tell  W’hich)  to  ‘Hippolytus  and  his  Age,’  and  of  their  connexion 
w’ith  it — matters  which  he  is  certainly  the  only  person  comi^etent 
to  explain  : — 

‘It  is  inq)ossil)lo  to  conceiil  from  oneself,’  he  says,  ‘  that  pictures  of 


Tiic  italics  are  ours. 


HIPPOLYTUS  AND  HIS  AGE. 


697 


bje-"OTic  historical  characters  and  ac^es  cannot  prove  all  they  assert  and 
rei)rescnt.  Such  compositions  arc  huildings  erected  upon  a  suhstruc- 
tion,  hoth  philosophical  and  philological,  to  which  a  few  detached  essays 
and  notes  cannot  do  justice. 

‘  The  present  volumes,  therefore,  appear  Hanked  hy  two  other  works. 
The  lirst  presents,  in  two  ))arts,  a  key  to  the  philosojdiical,  historical, 
and  theological  views  which  pervade  ‘  Hippolytus  and  his  Age.*  It 
he.ars  the  title,  ‘Sketch  of  the  Philosophy  of  Language  and  of 
Jieligion  ;  or,  the  beginning  and  Prospects  of  the  liuman  Pace.’ 
This  sketch  com])rises  the  Aj)horisms  of  the  second  volume  of  the 
lirst  edition,  hotter  digested  and  worked  out,  so  as  to  form  an  integral 
])art  of  a  philosophical  glance  at  the  ])rimordial  history  of  our  race 
with  regard  to  the  principle  of  development  and  of  progress. 

‘  The  second  substruction,  the  j)hilological,  is  also  presented  as  a 
separate  work,  and  forms  three  volumes.  The  remains  of  ante-Nicenc 
documents  constitute  three  sections,  none  of  which  have  hitherto  been 
p^ven  in  a  complete  and  satisfactory  manner;  the  literary  remains,  the 
constitutional  documents,  and  the  liturgical  records.  Of  these,  the 
third  section  was  critically  almost  a  blank  Wforethe  publication  of  my 
‘  llelitpiia}  Liturgica\*  1  have  had  nothing  to  add  to  these  liturgical 
texts,  but  1  have  this  time  printed  in  extenso  the  passages  of  the 
Syrian  Jacobite  liturgy  which  correspond  with  the  Greek  text ;  whereas, 
in  the  lirst  edition,  1  only  indicated  that  they  were  identical.  Put  I 
have  prelixed  to  those  texts  the  Elementa  Liturgica,  pojndarly 
exhibited  in  my  ‘Pook  of  the  Church.’  These  elements  are  the  following 
three  : — Firsts  the  Lord’s  Prayer  as  liturgically  used,  and  as  recorded 
ill  the  ancient  MSS.  of  the  New  Testament,  and  in  the  Fathers. 
Secondly^  the  various  baptismal  formularies,  commonly  called  the 
Apostles’  Creed  ;  to  which  are  added  the  Nicenc  and  Constantino- 
politan  Creeds,  which,  at  a  later  period,  came  gradually  into  liturgical 
use.  Thirdly^  the  i>rimitive  psalmody.  I  give  lirst  the  so-called  three 
Canticles  of  Mary,  Zacharias,  and  Simeon,  printed  as  Hebrew  psalms 
in  hemistichs,  as  they  are  composed  and  intended  to  be  used;  then  the 
hymns  of  the  ancient  Greek  church.  To  these  I  have  added,  as  an 
a})j)endix,  the  Te  Deiim  Laudamus,  the  truly  original  and  poetical 
reproduction  and  amplification  of  the  Greek  Morning  Jlymn;  a 
German  composition  of  the  fifth  century  ;  the  only  Latin  psalm  and 
the  only  liturgical  composition  of  the  Western  church  which  has 
obtained  universal  adoption.’ — Preface,  pp.  viii.,  ix. 


We  wish  we  could  add  that  the  development  supplied  in  the 
case  of  ‘  Hippolytus’  is  uniformly  healthy.  Put  this  we  cannot 
answer  for.  It  is  painful  to  find  the  key-note  of  rationalism 
struck  in  the  very  first  page  of  the  work,  where  the  great  miracle 
of  the  Pentecost  is  resolved  into  a  thunder-storm.  In  this  and 
other  similar  jihenomena  we  discern  the  lamentable  result  of  our 
author’s  early  training  at  the  feet  of  the  Gamaliels  of  a  school 
W'hich  is  now  happily  aliticpiated  even  in  Germai>y.  In  our 
review  of  the  first  edition  we  warned  our  readers  that  the  work 
was  not  to  be  judged  from  the  English  pjint  of  view.  This 


698 


HIPrOLYTUS  AXD  HIS  AGE. 


caution,  however,  did  not  save  us  from  the  auimadveniions  of  a 
contemporary,  who  has  benevolently  taken  our  orthoiloxv  under 
his  special  tutelage,  and  who,  we  are  glad  to  hear.  h;\s  at  last 
made  up  Lis  mind  to  grapple  with  the  linguistic  pan  of 
*  Germanism,'  in  order  that  he  may  no  longer  lie  under  the  reproach 
of  indiscriminate  nailing  at  what  he  does  not  understand.  It  was 
owing  to  a  wholesome  dread  of  this  stigma  that  we  refrained 
from  abusing  the  Chevalier's  odd  christology  and  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity,  which  its  well-intentioned  author  endently  thinks  is  as 
transpiirt  nt  as  the  water  of  life,  but  which  to  us  appears  ten 
times  more  obscure  than  the  Xicene,  rejecteii  by  him  on  account 
of  its  mysteriousness.  But  enough  of  this.  Chevalier  Bunsen 
is  not  a  man  to  bo  written  down  bv  anv  ieremiads  about  his 
orthodoxy,  which  either  we  or  our  censors  can  ]xmi.  His  is  one 
of  the  most  original,  ix'werful.  and  cultivated  minds  of  Kuro^v. 
lie  is  a  diamond  of  the  lirst  water,  though  not  without  Haws. 
His  heart,  too,  is  thoroughly  Christian,  and  Ix^ats  in  unison  with 
the  piety  of  the  humblest  believer  :  whilst  in  intellectual  ]rowcss 


he  is  more  than  a  match  for  the  very  Goliaths  of  the  Philistines. 
To  rej^dfrom  us  such  an  ally  in  these  daysof  rebuke  and  blasythemy, 
because,  forsooth,  he  has  not  been  taiii^ht  in  our  Sundav-schools, 
and  learnt  our  Shiblxdeths,  is  worse  than  folly — it  is  sin.  That  he 
has  inhaled  much  choke-damp  down  there  in  those  deep  mines 
whence  he  has  been  diirinmr  out  hid  treasure  to  lav  on  ChhIs 
altar,  so  that  he  cannot  ahvays  breathe  freely,  we  dejdore  as 
sincerely  as  any.  But  fresh  air  is  already  beginning  to  oiivulato 
in  those  perilous  but  auriferous  shafts  and  galleries,  and  Cn  rinan 
literature  bids  fair  soon  to  become  as  splendid  a  Christian  fact  as 
it  has  long  been  recognistd  to  bo  a  stupendous,  though  vUvw 
wayward,  development  of  human  genius  and  learning. 
Bunsen  in  particular  we  may  say,  that  his  childish  horror  ol  the 
sujKTnatural  belongs  to  the  accidents  rather  than  to  the  essence 
of  the  man.  It  is  like  the  wijx  of  the  rei^n  of  CJeorue  111., 
which  some  old  gentlemen  still  sport — a  remnant  ot  an  ante¬ 
diluvian  fashion.  If  he  is  a  rationalist,  it  is  in  spite  ot  hiinselt 
and  of  Ids  truly  genial,  better  nature. 


ii 


N  . — -1A/  /•V#V/f</»\*  anJ  IVin^  Moiuorinls, 

Portraits,  aiul  Personal  luw'lUvtions  of  IXwasovl  iVlohritios  i\i' 
the  Xinottvnth  CVntnrv  ;  with  Si'hvtions  frv'»m  their  VnpnhlishiHl 
Letters.  Pv  P.  ti.  Patmoiw  vols.  London  :  Saunders  \  i^tlev. 
l>oL 


A  MODKliX  and  motoindo  ossi^yist  tolls  us  that  history  sluuiKl  l»o 
alKdishod.  and  that  bioi^raphy  should  take  its  phuv  ;  and  in  this 
apparent  }urado\  there  is  a  nueleus  of  truth.  If  history  were  a 
mere  alnuutaek.  just  a  oatalooue  i»f  physical  phenomena,  the  divla- 
ration  would  be  al^surd,  unless.  iiul\*i\i.  it  were  i\»vt'i'iHl  by  a 
prect'dent  j>ostulate,  that  the  human  ia<.v  can  ilo  |H'rhvtly  well 
without  almanacks.  Put  the  case  is  far  otherwise'.  History,  so  far 
Iroin  lK,dno  a  iword  of  material  phenomena,  is  little  elst»  than  a 
record  ot  the  acts  and  thoughts  of  indivulual  men.  It  is  but  the 
expansion  of  biography.  Homer’s  battles  ai\'  the  details  of 
individual  prowess  ;  and  in  the  grandest  tableaux  of  history, 
indivivlual  words  aiul  divvls  constitutt'  the  fas<,'inating  points, — 
the  brilliant  pendants  and  nu>re  oialeanHl  iKvorations  in  its 
gorgeous  array,  rhis,  indet\l,  springs  out  of  the  universitl  law 
ot  human  symjvrthy.  We  own  a  kiiulred,  not  with  tunpiro.s  but 
with  men;  not  with  vague  aiul  cumbrous  tratlitional  systems, 
but  with  transcendental  principles,  which  in  their  lonely  indi¬ 
viduality  stand  like  distant  pyramiils  keenly  defuuHl  in  tlte 
minds  of  contemporary  observers,  and  embraced  with  the  s;mio 
minuteness  and  tenacity  by  our  own.  Who.st*  .senlinu'nts  ilo  not 
gravitate,  in  |K‘1  using  the  record  i>f  the  gn‘at  contests  for 
freedom,  towards  the  immortal  anoedotes  of  its  champions, 
and  turn  with  pensive  privle  to  the  divisive  or  living  words 
and  actions  of  those  men  of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy  ^ 
Who,  in  contemplating  the  whoh*  opulence  of  truth  and 
greatness,  presented  both  in  sjicred  and  uninspired  ivclesia.stical 
liistory,  has  not  had  his  attention  riveted — as  by  that  irrt'sisiible 
art  by  which  painters  compel  the  eye,  l>y  a  colour  ot  controlling 
brilliancy,  to  a  ]Kirticular  relieving  spot  in  their  paintings — to  the 
exhibitions  of  individual  character,  developed  by  the  noble  army 
of  martyrs,  the  creati>rs  of  that  history  itselt  { 

It  is  this  principle  which  umh'rlies  the  whole  theory  ot  di*a- 
matic  and  tictilious  literature.  It  constitutes,  indeed,  the  very 
secret  of  its  power,  and  residing,  as  it  does,  mnid.st  the  most 
elemental  springs  of  our  naturi‘,  it  has  not  escaped  the  observa¬ 
tion  of  the  deejvst  investigators  ot  the  human  mind.  It  is  just 
that  ‘one  touch  of  nature*  that  ‘makes  the  whole  world  kiu, 
and  in  dwelling  u[)ou  it,  we  are  reminded  ot  a  |M\s.s;\go  iu  which 


700  PATMORES  FRIENDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE. 

it  is  beautifully  indicated  by  Foster,  in  bis  Essay  on  a  mans 
writing  memoirs  of  himself : — ‘  I  suppose,'  he  says,  ‘  a  child  in 
Switzerland,  growing  up  to  a  man,  would  have  acquired  incom¬ 
parably  more  of  the  cast  of  his  mind  from  the  events,  manners 
and  actions  of  the  next  village,  though  its  inhabitants  were  hut 
his  occasional  companions,  than  from  all  the  mountain  scenes, 
the  cataracts,  and  every  circumstance  of  beauty  or  sublimity  in 
nature  around  him.  We  are  all  true  to  our  species,  and  very 
soon  feel  its  importance  to  us  (though  benevolence  be  not  the 
basis  of  the  interest)  far  beyond  the  importance  of  anything  that 
we  see  besides.  Beginning  our  observations  with  children,  you 
may  have  noted  how  instantly  they  will  turn  their  attention 
away  from  any  of  the  aspects  of  nature,  however  rare  or  striking, 
if  human  objects  present  themselves  to  view  in  any  active  manner. 
This  “  leaning  to  our  kind"  brings  each  individual,  not  only  under 
the  influence  attending  immediate  association  with  a.  few,  but 
under  the  operation  of  numberless  influences  from  all  the  moral 
diversities  of  which  he  is  a  spectator  in  the  living  world,  a  com¬ 
plicated,  though  insensible  tyranny,  of  which  every  fashion,  folly, 
and  vice  may  exercise  its  part.'* 

The  influence  exerted  by  this  universal  instinct  on  our  litera¬ 
ture  is  sufliciently  obvious.  Of  the  millions  who  are  debarred 
by  their  position  from  any  acquaintance  with  the  private  life  of 
distinguished  men,  a  large  number  in  such  an  age  as  this  are 
im|>atient  of  their  social  exile.  They  thirst  for  the  poignant 
pleasures  of  such  an  acquaintance,  and  the  demand  thus  occa¬ 
sioned  affords  to  such  as  can  supply  it  a  prodigious  temptation. 
Those  whose  lot  is  cast  on  the  outskirts  of  the  intellectual  work!, 
and  who  need  fear  no  similar  reprisals  in  their  own  case,  are 
under  a  strong  temptation  to  turn  this  popular  demand  to  their 
own  private  account.  Society  will  never  be  very  intensely  anxious 
to  know  their  sayings  and  doings ;  but  famishing  multitudes  will 
be  eager  for  those  crumbs  which  fall  from  the  tables  to  which 
such  men  are  accidentally  admitted.  This  circumstance  should 
in  all  propriety  impose  a  law  of  extreme  delicacy  and  reserve 
upon  those  whose  temptations  to  supply  such  a  demand  are 
unusually  strong.  The  success  of  such  j3ersonal  memoirs  as  those 
of  Evelyn,  Pepys,  Boswell,  and  many  others,  oft'ei's  to  such  men 
a  strong  inducement  to  violate  a  confidence  which  every  honour¬ 
able  mind  should  hold  sacred  ;  and  in  proportion  to  the  strength 
of  that  inducement  should  be  their  nice  sense  of  honour  and 
their  self-restraint.  He  who  infringes  this  obligation  by  making 
the  drawing-room,  the  library,  and  even  the  chamber,  to  which  he 
is  admitted  as  public  as  Salisbury  Plain, — who,  to  use  well-known 

*  Foster’s  Essays,  eleventh  edition,  p.  23. 


Patmore’s  friends  and  acquaintance  701* 

words,  ‘  invades  domestic  privacy,  and  publishes  the  sallies  of  the 
convivial  hour,’ — commits  a  double  wrong ;  first,  to  the  individual 
whose  confidence  he  abuses,  and  next,  to  those  who  may  be 
excluded  from  the  higher  society  to  which  their  talents  or  their 
virtues  entitle  them,  by  the  suspicion  which  his  prattling  imper¬ 
tinence  has  engendered. 

This  charge  lies  heavily  against  Mr.  Patmore.  Holding  the 
situation  of  literary  referee  to  an  eminent  London  publisher,  he 
was  necessarily  thrown  into  correspondence  and  personal  inter¬ 
course  with  some  of  the  principal  authors  of  the  day.  And  this 
circumstance  has  supplied  him  with  the  stock  on  which  he  trades 
in  the  volumes  before  us.  It  has  been  justly  remarked  by  one 
critic, — ^That  this  work  will  be  of  great  value  to  the  living  cele¬ 
brities  of  the  present  century  as  a  warning  to  them  to  be  cautious 
with  whom  they  correspond,  and  whom  to  admit  into  their 
society.  It  conUiins  a  great  deal  of  WTitten  matter  that  ought 
never  to  have  been  printed,  and  scarcely  less  of  printed  matter 
that  ought  never  to  have  been  written.  The  letters  here  j>ub- 
lished  are  chiefly  communications,  purely  confidential,  and  they 
are  served  up  as  mind  portraits,”  with  the  silliest  of  comments, 
and  we  grieve  to  add,  the  most  unprincipled  of  reflections.’* 
To  these  remarks  we  feel  bound  to  add,  that  Mr.  Patmore’s 
w’ork  labours  under  three  cardinal  disadvantages :  first,  that  he 
criticizes  intellectual  and  literary  men  with  the  slenderest  amount 
of  critical  and  literary  ability.  Secondly,  that  he  portrays 
scholars  with  a  lamentable  want  of  scholarship ;  and,  thirdly, 
that  without  any  impeachment  of  his  veracity,  there  ap|>ears  to 
be  internal  evidence  that  his  representations  cannot  be  accepted 
as  true.  These  serious  accusations  will,  we  fear,  be  clearly  sub¬ 
stantiated  in  the  analysis  of  his  book  on  wdiich  w'c  are  about  to 
enter. 

Mr.  Patmore  commences  his  notices  wdth  Charles  Lamb,  a 
most  interesting  character,  certainly,  to  an  acute  observer  of 
human  nature,  but  one  wdiich  his  descrijitions  leave  under  a 
dense  fog.  We  pass  over  his  description  of  Lamb’s  person, 

‘  But  see — he  has  removed  his  hat,’  and  all  such  p.soudo-draniatic 
and  vulgar  clap-trap.  He  attributes  to  his  countenance  the 
‘gravity  of  the  .siige  contending  with  the  gaiety  of  the  humourist.’ 
But  even  this  physiognomical  description  does  not  prepare  us  for 
the  statement  that  ‘  Charles  Lamb’s  face,  like  his  other  attri¬ 
butes,  “  amounts  to  a  contradiction  in  terms,”  ’  or  this  still  cruder 
statement,  ‘  he  hated  and  despised  men  with  his  mind  and  judg¬ 
ment  in  proportion  as  (aiul  'precisely  because)  he  loved  and 
yearned  to  them  in  his  heart,  and  individually  he'  loved  those 

*  The  Literary  (razettc,  August  12th,  1851. 


702 


PATMORE’S  FRIENDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE. 


best  whom  every  one  else  hated,  and  for  the  very  reasons  for 
which  others  hated  them.'  Let  these  remarks  be  followed  hnt 
for  a  moment  into  illustrative  details.  Certain  men  are  hated 
because  they  are  false,  treacherous,  cruel,  despotic,  or  insolent, 
because  they  are  at  once  shallow  and  arrogant,  and  therefoi\^ 
intolerable  nuisances  in  society.  Are  we  to  suppose  that  Mr. 
Lamb  loved  them  for  these  veiy  reasons?  If  he  did  so,  he  was 
simply  an  idiot ;  but  if  that  hypothesis  is  too  a])surd  to  be 
accepted,  what  are  we  to  think  of  ^Ir.  Patmore’s  knowledixe  of 
human  nature  and  insight  into  individual  character.  Indeed,  it 
is  impossible  to  exaggemte  the  crude  and  random  character  of 
this  w  liter’s  observations.  He  tells  us  (vol.  L  p.  22)  that  ‘  Lamb 
WT\s  always  on  a  par  w  ith  his  company,  how^ever  high  or  however 
low^  it  might  be  ;’  and  yet  in  the  very  same  page  he  states  that 
‘  the  first  impression  he  made  upon  jx^ople  w^as  always  unfavour¬ 
able, —  sometimes  to  a  violent  and  repulsive  degree,’  and  adds 
that  ‘  to  those  who  did  not  know-  him,  or  knowing,  did  not  or  could 
not  appreciate  him.  Lamb  often  passed  for  something  between 
an  imbecile,  a  brute,  and  a  butfoon.’  This  of  Charles  Jjamb  ! 

Lilt  in  thoughtless  fatuity  Mr.  Patmore  sometimes  exceeds 
himself.  After  depicting  Lamb  as  an  utterly  impossible  monster, 
he  says  (p.  23),  ‘  He  did  not  like  to  be  thought  different  from 
his  fellow-men  (!),  and  he  knew'  that  in  the  vocabulary  of  the 
ordinary  world,  “a  man  of  genius”  seldom  means  anything 
better,  and  often  something  worse,  than  an  object  of  mingled  fear, 
jnty,  and  contempt.’  Poor  Charles  Lamb  !  Verily  he  w  as  taken 
from  the  evil  to  come.  To  his  many  admirers  who  mourn  his 
loss  it  will  be  matter  of  great  consolation  that  he  has  not  lived  to 
see  himself  befooled  by  the  self-complacent  crudities  of  this 
unfortunate  author. 

Shakspeare  talks  of  ‘damning  with  faint  praise,’  but  ^Ir. 
Patmore  throughout  these  pages  lias  showm  us  the  still  lieavier 
doom  that  may  lie  inflicted  by  a  blind  and  ignorant  determination 
to  praise  at  all  hazards,  esjiecially  when  the  eulogy  of  one  who  is 
claimed  as  an  intimate  friend  reflects  a  sort  of  mock  glorification 
upon  himself.  Pages  oD-G-S  are  occupied  w  ith  a  rambling,  rollicking 
letter  from  Lamb  to  the  author.  It  is  such  a  letter  as  any  man  who 
has  a  few  witty  friends,  who  are  also  good  correspondents,  would 
jirobably  receive  tw  enty  times  in  a  year.  Indeed  it  is  an  amusing 
but  sli])shod  affair,  by  no  means  a  fair  specimen  of  Lamb’s  humour, 
and  perhaps  its  (piality  is  best  accounted  for  in  the  first  sentence. 
‘  Dear  P.,  I  am  so  poorly  !  I  have  been  to  a  funeral,  where  1 
made  a  pun,  to  the  consternation  of  the  rest  of  the  mourners, 
and  w  e  had  w  ine.’  And  then  he  goes  on  about  his  dog  Dash,  and 
dotting  down  the  interpolations  of  his  sister  as  to  her  inability  to 
procure  him  shrimp  sauce  for  soles,  and  an  accident  to  his 


703 


PATMOKE’s  FPIENDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE. 

sister  after  the  funeral,  under  whom  the  seat  of  a  crazy  chair 
gave  way,  at  which  the  widow  joined  the  rest  of  the  company 
in  a  titter ;  ‘  and  then,'  Lamb  adds,  ‘  1  knew  she  was  not  incon¬ 
solable.' 

Of  this  epistle,  diverting  enough  in  its  way,  Patmore  says  : —  . 
‘  If  1  give  this  incomparable  letter  in  iUl  its  disjointed  integrity, 
with  its  enormous  jokes  in  the  shape  of  pretended  domestic 
news  about  Procter,  Hone,  Godwin,  Becky,  &c. ;  its  inimitable 
tableau  vivant  of  the  ‘‘ meiTy  passage  with  the  widow  at  the 
Coininons its  “  and  then  I  knew  that  she  was  not  inconsolable," 
which  cannot  be  out  of  Shaksjmi re ;  its  startling 

dramatic  interpolations  “No  shrimps!"  and  “All  three,  sa3^s 
l)i\sh  its  sick  qualms,  curable  only  by  puns  ;  its  deliberate 
incoherences;  its  hypothetical  invitation  to  dinner  (1  was  at  Paris 
at  the  time) ;  if  I  venture  to  give  all  these  in  their  naked  inno¬ 
cence,  it  is  because  I  do  not  dare  to  tamper,  even  to  the  amount 
of  a  single  word,  w’ith  an  epistolary  gem  that  is  w'orth  the  best 
volume  of  Horace  Walpole  s,  and  half  the  ‘  Elegant  Extracts 
from  Pope  and  Atterbury  to  boot’ 

A  writer  w  ho  can  be  guilty  of  sucli  a  ])anegyric  as  this,  so  ])re- 
posterously  inappropriate,  indiscriminating,  and  extravagant,  is 
obviously  destitute  of  all  critical  ability,  and  can  command  no 
contidence  even  in  his  biographical  fidelity.  Thus  our  credulity 
is  sorely  taxed  at  page  73,  where  we  are  informed  that  Lamb  was 
more  than  indifferent  about  flowers.  Upon  this  statement,  which 
we  receive  with  due  suspicion,  Patmore  is  seized  with  one  of  his 
spasms  of  feeble  philosopliizing.  ‘  In  the  world,’  he  says,  ‘  as  at 
})reseut  constituted,  a  man  like  Charles  Lamb  must  hate  some¬ 
thing  ;  and  for  him  (Lamb)  to  hate  a  human  being,  or  indeed 
any  sentient  being  (he  had  ])reviously  said,  page  If),  that  Lamb 
hated  and  despised  men  with  his  mind  and  judgment),  even 
an  adder  or  a  toad,  was  impossible  to  his  nature.  Is  it  then 
speculating  too  curiously  on  his  singularly-constitubid  mind 
and  lieart  to  suppose  that  he  may  have  gone  to  the  o])positc 
extreme — for  he  lived  in  extremes — and  hated  that  which  seems 
made  only  to  be  loved,  and  which  all  the  world  fancy  they  love, 
or  pretend  to  do,  because  they  can  find  nothing  in  them  to  move 
their  hate — flow  ers,  fields,  and  the  face  of  external  nature?’  It 
mav  be  owing  to  our  insutheient  acquaintance  witli  the  writings 
of  the  feeblest  minds  that  have  thought  themselves  capable  of 
sup})lying  stock  for  the  circulating  lil>raries,  but  w'c  confess  that 
we  do  not  recollect  meeting  with  a  paragraph  which,  wdth  tlie  air 
ami  pretension  of  ingenious  thinking,  betrays  more  absolute 
fatuity  than  this.  We  beg  pardon  of  Mr.  Lamb’s  dog  Dash,  if  we 
are  wrong  in  our  conjecture  that  w’e  see  in  it  the  traces  of  his 
paw’.  Perhaps,  however,  he  knew  his  master  better. 

I 


704 


Patmore’s  friends  and  acquaintance. 


After  this  we  are  not  a  little  astonished  to  find  (page  82)  that 
it  is  not  the  aim  of  this  work  to  exalt  or  aggrandize  the  intellectual 
pretensions  of  the  persons  to  whom  it  relates,  but  only  to  give 
tnie  sketches  of  them  as  they  appeared  from  the  point  of  view 
from  which  the  writer  looked  at  them. 

Mr.  Patmore’s  appreciation  of  his  own  performance  seems  to 
be  on  a  par  with  that  of  the  literary  men  whom  he  delineates. 
Nothing  can  be  more  incorrect  than  his  representations.  All  his 
geese  jire  swans,  and  his  intention  seems  to  have  been  to  stilt 
himself  up  to  a  factitious  importance  by  the  grossest  exaggeration 
of  the  merits  of  those  who  happen  to  have  honoured  him  with 
their  acquaintance.  He  rarely  reports  their  conversations ;  and 
when  he  does,  they  are  so  utterly  meagre  and  worthless,  that  they 
would  greatly  reduce  our  estimate  of  the  men,  did  we  not 
recollect  the  medium  through  which  they  are  transmitted.  In 
the  case  of  Lamb,  for  example,  we  meet  with  a  few  pages  of  con¬ 
versational  anecdote,  and  are  tempted  to  imagine  that  the  obser¬ 
vations  reported  as  Lamb’s  must  have  been  those  of  Mr.  Patmore 
himself,  and  wrongly  attributed,  through  a  failure  of  memory. 
The  very  first  entry  affords  an  example  of  this  :  ‘  I  took  up  a 
book  on  the  table — Almacks — and  Lamb  said,  “  Ay,  that  must 
be  all  'iiuix  to  the  lovers  of  scandal.’  It  is  scarcely  conceivable 
that  Lamb  should  have  made  so  stupid  a  pun  as  this ;  though,  by 
the  way,  it  is  almost  as  difficult  to  imagine  how  any  man  who 
ever  found  his  way  into  cultivated  society  should  have  thought  it 
worth  reporting,  even  if  he  had.  His  only  notice  of  Mr.  Lamb’s 
death  is  equally  characteristic,  and  the  pendant  anecdote,  a propos 
d€8  bottes,  exhibits  the  author’s  want  of  perception  most  gro¬ 
tesquely.  ‘  There  is  something  inexpressibly  shocking  in  first 
hearing  of  a  dear  friend’s  death  through  the  medium  of  a  jniblic 
newspaper,  at  a  time,  perhaps,  when  you  believe  him  to  be  in 
perfect  health,  and  are  on  the  point  of  paying  him  a  too  long- 
delayed  visit.  Such  was  my  case  in  respect  to  Charles  Lamb. 
Still  more  painful  w^as  the  case  of  a  lady  formerly  a  distin¬ 
guished  ornament  of  the  English  stage,  to  wdiom  Lamb  was 
attached  by  the  double  tie  of  admiration  and  friendship.  S(jvoral 
days  after  Lamb’s  death,  she  W’as  conversing  of  him  with  a 
mutual  friend,  who,  taking  for  granted  her  knowledge  of 
Lamb’s  death,  al>ruptly  referred  to  some  circumstance  coiincct(‘d 
w’ith  the  event,  which  for  the  first  time  made  her  acquainted 
with  it’ 

^Ir.  Patmore’s  next  victim  is  the  late  Thomas  Campbell,  and  the 
lovers  of  his  memory  wdll  be  puzzled  to  know  which  most  to 
regret,  his  exclusion  from  Westminster  Abbey,  or  his  admission 
into  Mr.  Patmore’s  volumes.  We  fear  they  will  feel  that  if 
the  one  is  a  negative,  the  other  is  a  positive  disgrace.  Against 


705 


patmorf/s  friknds  axd  acquaintance. 

Campbell,  however,  our  author  has  brought  one  charge  which 
has  excited  not  a  little  indignation — namely,  that  he  was  not  the 
author  ot  the  ‘  Lives*  of  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Sir  Thomas  Ijawrence, 
which  were  published  with  his  name,  but  that  all  he  had  to  do 
with  tlieir  ])roduction  was  the  looking  over  the  MS.  and  tlie 
])roof  sheets,  and  permitting  his  name  to  stand  rubric  on  the 
title-page. 

On  tins  charge  the  publisher  of  the  'Life  of  Mrs.  Siddons* 
asserts  in  a  letter  to  the  '  Athenaeum,*  that  Campbell  declared  to 
him  that  he  did  write  them,  having  been  bound  by  a  ])romiso 
to  Mrs.  Siddons  herself,  who  becpieathed  to  him  her  Diary  for  the 
pur[)ose.  He  further  (piotes  a  letter  from  Campbell  respecting  it, 
which  contains  the  words,  ‘  really  considering  the  labour  I  have 
bestowed  upon  this  work,  as  well  as  my  own  conviction  and  that 
oimy  friends  with  respect  to  its  execution,*  &c.*  This  evidenci*, 
so  far  as  we  are  aware,  has  never  been  rebutted  by  Mr.  J^itmore. 
His  estimate  of  Campbell  is  as  vague  and  im])erfect  as  that 
of  his  other  subjects.  He  speaks  of  him  as  being  fairly  reco¬ 
gnised  as  the  greatest  of  living  poets,  and  in  an  unmeaning 
com|)arison  of  him  with  Mr.  Rogei's,  informs  us  that  ‘  the  passions 
in  the  Bard  of  ‘  Hope*  still  burn  with  a  bright  intensity,  that 
would  consume  the  altar  on  which  they  are  kindled,  were  it  a 
shrine  less  pure  and  holy  than  a  poet’s  heart.*  If  this  means  any¬ 
thing,  it  declares  poets  to  be  the  purest  and  holiest  of  human 
beings.  Does  Mr.  Patmore  mean  gravely  to  afiirm  this  of  Thornas 
Campbell  ?  ])oes  he  of  Pope,  Byron,  Moon^  Shelley,  and  Burns  ? 
If  not,  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  does  he  mean  ?  In 
our  simplicity,  we  can  only  say  with  Hamlet’s  grave-digger, 
‘  Mass !  1  can’t  tell !’ 

The  next  ‘  mind  portrait’  with  wdiich  Mr.  Patmore  favours  the 
public  is  that  of  the  late  Countess  of  Blessington.  He  commences 
with  a  description  of  her  beauty ;  anil  setting  himself  up  as  a  judge 
of  painting,  makes  some  ridiculous  criticisms  on  Lawrence’s  well- 
known  portrait  of  the  countess,  accusing  the  painter  of  falling 
‘  into  the  error  of  Idending  incompatible  expres.sions  in  the  same 


*  Mr.  Vat  more  instaucos  one  rx])rrssion  of  Campholl  as  evidenor  that  he 
dill  not  even  peruse  the  materials  before  him.  It  is  in  reference  to  some  letters 
of  a  pretended  Frenchman,  on  wliich  Campbell  says,  ‘The  editor  admits  them 
on  aeeount  of  the  ability  which  they  seem  to  possess.’  On  tins  I’atmorc 
remarks  in  a  note,  ‘  Tlere  the  secret  of  non-perusal  peeps  out.  to 

possess  !”  So  that  they  may  or  they  may  not  jmssess  it,  for  anything  he  knows 
abinit  them.*  Mr.  Patmore  evidently  cannot  understand  the  modest  suggestion 
of  an  opuiion,  and  we  can  imagine  how  he  would  have  been  puzzled  had  he  ever 
been  led  astray  into  the  writings  of  Tacit u.s  by  such  words  as  Hrrmauos 
Milenas  crediderim.  Yet,  shortly  afterwards  (u.  V2S),  we  find  him  adojding 
the  very  same  form  of  expression,  ‘  1  particularly  seem  to  remember  that  these 
very  words  were  used.* 

N.S. — VOL.  VIII.  Z  Z 


706 


patoore's  friends  and  acquaintance. 


face.'  This  silly  remark  reminds  us  of  a  characteristic  joke  of 
Sidney  Smith,  who,  while  bearing  Tom  Moore  company  in  a 
sitting  for  his  portrait,  asked  the  artist  if  he  could  not  manage 
*  to  throw  into  the  face  a  more  decided  expression  of  hostility  to 
the  established  church.'  Her  ladyship's  charms  seem  fairly  to 
liave  robbed  Mr.  Patmore  of  his  wits ;  and  the  portion  of  his 
work  devoted  to  her,  and  by  necessary  association  to  Count 
D'Orsay,  is  really  a  lamentable  exhibition  of  feebleness  and  folly. 
Thus,  at  page  176,  he  says,  ‘Not  that  she  did  not  desire  to 
please,  no  woman  desired  it  more.  But  she  never  tried  to  do  so, 
never  felt  that  she  was  doing  so;  never  (so  to  speak)  cared 
whether  she  did  so  or  not'  The  purchaser  of  these  volumes  may 
now  determine  whether  Lady  Blessington  was  desirous  of  pleasing 
or  not.  ‘  He  pays  his  money  and  he  has  his  choice.' 

^Ir.  Patmore's  notices  of  her  intercourse  with  Byron  are  about 
as  discriminating  as  the  above  observation  is  logical.  He  tells 
us  ‘  that  Lady  Blessington  may  be  considered  as  having  been  the 
depositary  of  his  last  thoughts  and  feelings  ;  and  she  may  cer¬ 
tainly  be  regarded  as  having  exercised  a  very  beneficial  inlluence 
on  the  tone  and  colour  of  the  last  and  best  days  of  that  most 
strange  and  wayward  of  men'  (vol.  i.  p.  181)  ;  and  again  (p.  J8.S) 
lie  informs  us,  that  under  the  infiuence  of  this  intercourse,  ‘  un¬ 
touched  as  it  was  bv  the  least  taint  of  flirtation  on  either  side,'  both 

V  ' 

the  poet  and  the  man  became  once  more  what  nature  intended 
them  to  be ;  and  that  ‘  had  it  endured  a  little  longer,  it  might 
have  redeemed  the  personal  character  of  Byron,  and  saved  him 
for  those  high  and  holy  things  for  which  his  noble  and  beautiful 
genius  seems  to  have  been  created,  but  which  the  fatal  Nemesis 
of  his  early  life  interdicted  him  from  accomplishing.'  Mr.  Pat¬ 
more's  views  of  morals  and  holiness  constitute  perhaps  his  only 
claim  to  originality  Of  Lady  Blessington's  monility,  we  will 
observe  a  modest  silence  ;  but,  if  we  recollect  aright,  the  poem  of 
Byron  which  was  produced  ‘  in  his  last  and  best  days'  is  the  one 
which,  for  its  blaspheinyand  obscenity,  is  universally  excluded  from 
every  library  and  drawing-room  in  this  metropolis,  which  Mr. 
Patmore  declares  to  be  ‘  not  merely  the  most  immoral,  but  the 
most  openly  and  indecently  immoral  capital  in  Europe.' 

We  think  that  many  of  the  readers  of  these  volumes  must 
have  been  constantly  reminded,  as  w^e  have  been,  of  one  of  the 
London  morning  papers,  the  faults  of  whose  style  are  so  exactly 
those  of  Mr.  Patmore  that  we  cannot  divCvSt  ourselves  of  the 
opinion  that  he  has  been  a  frequent  contributor  to  its  columns. 
Take,  for  example,  the  following  sketch,  which  Mr.  Patmore 
informs  us  was  taken  from  the  Ring  in  Hyde-park  : — 

‘  Observe  that  green  chariot  just  making  the  turn  of  the  unbroken 
line  of  equipages.  Though  it  is  now  advancing  towards  us  with  at 


PATMORE’S  FRIENDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE.  707 

least  a  dozeu  carriages  between,  it  is  to  be  distinguished  from  tlic 
tlirong  by  the  elevation  of  its  driver  and  footnuui  above  tlie  ordimuy 
level  of  the  line.  As  it  comes  nearer,  we  can  observe  the  particular 
points  that  give  it  that  perfectly  dUtingue  apiK‘arance  which  it  bears 
above  all  others  in  the  throng.  They  consist  of  the  white  wheels, 
lightly  picked  out  with  green  and  crimson ;  the  high-stepping  ac*tion, 
blood-like  shaj)e,  and  brilliant  manege  of  its  dark  bay  horses ;  the 
perfect  style  of  its  driver ;  the  height  (six  feet  two)  of  its  slim,  spider- 
limbed,  pow’dered  footman,  perked  up  at  least  three  feet  above  the  roof 
of  the  carriage,  and  occupying  his  eminence  with  that  peculiar  air  of 
accidental  superiority,  half  petit-maltre,  half  })lough-boy,  which  we 
take  to  be  the  ideal  of  footman  perfection  ;  and,  linally,  the  exceetlingly 
light,  airy,  and  (if  we  may  so  speak)  intellect uiU  chariicter  of  the  whole 
set-out.! — Vol.  i.  p.  19J1,  194. 

\V e  axe  then  treated  to  ‘  the  arms  and  supporters  bhxzoned  on 
the  centre  panels,"  and  the  face  of  the  countess  within,  ‘  throu^li 
the  doubly  refracting  medium  of  plate-ghuss  and  a  blonde  veil;' 

‘  the  lady,  her  companion,  is  the  Countess  de  St.  i^Iarsault,  her 
sister,  whose  finely-cut  features  and  perfectly  oval  face  bears  a 
strikirifi  geneo'al  resemblance  to  those  of  Lady  h.,wiilioiit  heimj 
at  all  like  them.*  Paradox  would  seem  to  constitute  the  family 
characteristic  of  these  tw  o  ladies.  Lady  Blessington's  sister  bears 
a  striking  resemblance  to  her  without  being  at  all  like  her,  and  her 
ladyship  herself,  as  we  have  seen,  is,  above  all  women,  desirous  of 
pleasing  without  caring  a  straw  w  hether  she  does  so  or  not.  But  her 
ladyship’s  martyr-like  powers  of  endumnee  remain  to  be  noticed, 
as  furnishing  an  exam])le  of  the  triumph  of  genius  and  virtue  over 
almost  insuperable  difficulties : — ‘  Lady  Blessington  was  the  first 
to  introduce  the  beautifully  simple  fashion  of  wearing  the  hair 
in  bands,  but  was  not  imitated  in  it  till  she  had  persevered  for 
at  least  seven  years ;  and  it  was  the  same  with  the  white  wheels 
and  peculiar  style  of  picking  out  of  her  ecjuipages ;  both  features 
being  universally  adopted  some  ten  or  a  dozen  years  after  Lady 
Blessington  had  introduced  and  })ersevered  in  them.' 

But  perhaps  the  richest  example  of  this  intense  vulgarity  is 
the  following  pjissage,  which  w'e  meet  with  at  p.  210: — ‘Few 
readers  will  expect  to  find  a  w^ork  like  ‘  Jerrold’s  Magazine’  on 
the  gilded  tables  of  Gore  House.  But  the  following  note  will 
show^  that  Lady  Blessington's  sympathies  extended  to  all  classes.' 
Yes,  to  all  classes !  even  to  that  most  hund^le  and  abject  clas® 
to  which  Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold  belongs.  That  she  who  could  ‘in 
her  golden  urn  draw  light’  from  the  full  meridian  blaze  of  Mr. 
Patmore’s  genius  should  stoop  to  recognise  the  existence  of 
Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold  is  certainly  a  miracle  of  condescension.  Of 
this,  however,  her  ladyship  seems  to  have  been  unaware,  for  in 
the  very  letter  introduced  by  this  silliest  ot  tittle-tattlers,  she 
says,  ‘What  a  clever  production  ‘Jerrold’s  Magazine’  is,  and 


708 


patmorf/s  friends  and  acquaintance. 


how  admirable  are  his  own  contributions  !  Such  writings  must 
effect  good.' 

After  kneeling  to  the  countess,  Mr.  Patmore  turns  with  an  abso¬ 
lute  ^  falling-down-deadness' of  devotion  to  the  Count  D'Orsay. 
He  premi.ses  that  ‘  the  highest  and  noblest  phase  of  the  human 
character  is  a  gentleman,'  and  confidently  designates  the  count  as 
the  beau  ideal  of  this  ineffable  perfection.  ‘  He  was  the  hivonrite 
associate,  on  terms  of  perfect  intellectual  equality,  of  a  Byron,  a 
Bulwer,  and  a  L»andor,  and  at  the  Siime  time  the  oracle,  in  dress 
and  eveiy  other  species  of  dandyism,  of  a  Ohestertield,  a  Pem¬ 
broke,  and  a  Wilton'  (p.  222).  We  must  leave  all  questions  arising 
out  of  Count  D’Orsay's  waistcoat  and  trousers  to  Mr.  Patmore  and 
the  old  clothes  men  of  Moninouth-street ;  ljut  we  must  confess 
some  curiosity  to  know  what  is  meant  here  by  ‘  terms  of  ])orfect 
intellectual  equality.'  Docs  he  mean  that  J  )’Orsay  equalled  Bvron 
in  poetic  genius,  Landor  in  learning  and  intellectual  power,  and 
Bulwer  in  literary  accomplishment  ?  If  he  does  not,  he  should 
have  said  terms  of  social  equality,  which,  as  meaning  next  to 
nothing,  would  have  been  a  ph  rase  most  tit  for  Mr.  Patmore’s  use: 
if  he  does,  his  statement  is  too  ridiculous  to  be  improved  upon  by 
satire.  In  attributing  all  that  he  can  imagine  of  human  excel¬ 
lence  to  this  ‘admirable  Crichton,’  as  he  calls  him,  riding,  shooting, 
swimming,  boxing,  fencing,  wrestling,  tennis  playing,  &c.,  he  says, 
among  other  things,  he  was  amongst  the  best  cricketers  in  a 
country  wdiere  all  arc  cricketers.  This  hasty  generalization  sug¬ 
gests  a  scene  which  Sidney  Smith  would  have  delineated  to  ])er- 
fection,  and  perhaps  we  might  succeed  in  casting  ‘  two  elevens’ 
who  would  supply  a  tempting  opportunity  to  the  caricaturist. 

But  rash  and  ridiculous  assertion  is  not  the  heaviest  charge 
that  lies  against  Mr.  Patmore.  In  worshipping  his  golden  calves, 
he  illustrates  the  immoral  tendency  of  such  itlolatry.  Thus  of 
Count  D'Orsay,  he  says. 


‘  III  tlie  next  place,  with  tastes  and  personal  haViits  magnificent  and 
genei*ous  even  to  a  fault,  Count  D’Orsay  was  very  iar  from  being  rich; 
conseipiently,  at  every  step,  he  was  obliged  to  tread  upon  some  of  the 
.shopkeeping  prejudices  of  English  life.  Unlike  most  of  the  denizens 


of  this  nation  of  shojikeepers,”  he  very  wisely  looked  upon  a  tradesman 
as  a  being  born  to  give  credit,  but  who  never  does  fulfil  that  part  ot 
his  calling  if  he  can  helj)  it,  except  wliere  he  believes  that  it  will 
conduct  him,  if  not  to  j)ayment,  at  least  to  jirofit.  The  fashionable 
tradesmen  of  London  knew  that  to  be  patronized  by  Count  D’Orsay 
was  a  fortune  to  them ;  and  yet  they  had  the  face  to  expect  that  he 
would  pay  their  bills  after  they  had  run  for  a  ‘‘reasonable”  jicriod, 
whether  it  suited  his  convenience  to  do  so  or  not !  As  if,  by  rights, 
he  ought  to  have  )>aid  them  at  all,  or  as  if  theif  ought  not  to  have  paid 
him  for  showering  fortune  on  them  by  his  smile,  if  it  had  not  been  that 
hi*  honour  would  have  forbidden  such  an  arrangement,  even  with  ‘‘  a 


PATMORES  FRIENDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE. 


709 


nation  of  shopkecpei's  Nay,  I  bolievo  they  soineliinos  the 

iningleil  injustice  and  stupidity  of  invokiny;  the  law  to  their  aid,  and 
arresting  him!  Shutting  up  within  four  walls  the  man  whose  going 
forth  was  the  signal  for  all  the  rest  of  the  world  to  think  of  opening 
their  purse-strings,  to  compass  something  or  other  which  they  Ir'IicUI 
in  that  mirror  of  all  fashionable  reejuirements !  It  was  a  little  fortune 
to  his  tiger  to  tell  the  would-be  dandies  dwelling  north  of  Oxford- 
street  w  here  D’Orsay  bought  his  last  new’  cab-horse,  or  w'ho  built  his 
tdburv  or  his  coat ;  and  vet  it  is  said  that  his  hoi*s(*-dealer,  his  eoaeh- 
maker,  and  his  tailor  have  been  know  n  to  shut  uj)  1‘rom  sight  this  type 
and  model  by  which  all  the  male  “  nobility  and  gentry”  of  JjoiuIoii 
horsed,  equipaged,  and  attired  themselves.’ — Vol.  i.  p.  22!). 


This  passage  siiftices  of  itself  to  justify  the  very  low  estimate, 
both  intellectual  and  moral,  which  we  are  led  to  form  of  Mr. 
Patmore  by  the  ]>erusal  of  these  volumes,  through  whicli  alone 
his  name  lias  become  known  to  us.  Indeed,  liad  W’e  seen  it 
detached,  our  first  impression  woidd  have  been  that  it  wa«  the 
joint  production  of  a  journeyman  tailor,  a  footman,  and  a  black¬ 
leg.  Nothing  can  he  imagineil  more  subveasive  of  the  first  jirin- 
ciples  of  morality  and  common  honesty,  and  when  we  cou])le  it  with 
the  assertion  before  quoted,  that  C!ount  I  )’Orsiiy  exhibited  lus  a 
‘  gentleman'  the  highest  jdiase  of  human  nature,  w’c  cannot  lielp 
regarding  Mr.  Patmore  as  a  most  curious  micro.scope  jdienomenon. 

The  ethics  of  the  matter  lie  in  a  very  small  comj)a.ss. 
AVere  the  p(*rsons  who  siqiplied  the.  count  with  his  carriage.s, 
liorses,  clothes,  and  jew  ellery,  distinctly  apprized  by  him  that  the 
lionour  of  his  patronage  was  to  be  their  only  paynumt  {  If  they 
W’ere,  they  committed  a  great  injustice  in  sending  in  their 
accounts  ;  if  not,  the  count  w  as  a  swindler,  and  as  sucli  is  distinctly 
justified  by  Mr.  Patmore.  Again,  if  l)’C)rsay  is  to  be  relieved  on 
the  ground  of  his  hishionable  iidluence,  why  may  not  all  the 
gentlemen  who  imitated  his  fashions  have  claimed  the  same  pri¬ 
vileged — inasmuch  as  they  too  bad  their  apes,down  to  the  wretched 
apprentices  w’ho  hire  sham  jewels  and  a  spavimal  horse  for  a 
Sunday’s  airing.  Moreover,  if  the  nonqiayment  of  his  tradesmen’s 
debts  is  to  be  justified  on  the  score  of  his  having  b(*en  ‘  the  glass 
of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form,’  how  much  further  might  not  his 
ludvilege  have  extended?  Why  may  he  not  have  been  equally 
blameless  in  forging  their  checks  and  acceptances?  Put  the 
reader  is  already  sick  of  the  subject,  and  so  are  we. 

In  noticing  the  count’s  connexion  with  hady  Plessington,  Mr. 
Patmore  goes,  if  possible,  to  a  still  further  (h*greeof  immorality  and 
absurdity.  After  stating,  with  truth,  that  in  consecpience  of  it  the 
count  was  ‘  cut  off  from  the  advantages  of  the  more  hustidious  por¬ 
tion  of  high  female  S(x:iety,  by  the  indignant  fiat  of  its  heads  and 
leaders,’  he  adds,  ‘  And  this  was  in  England  !  where  no  marrietl 
man  in  high  life  is  thought  the  worse  of,  or  treated  the  w’orse, 


7]0 


patmorf/s  friends  and  acquaintance. 


even  by  the  female  friends  of  his  wife,  for  being  suspected  of 
having  a  mistress  or  two.  In  England  ! — where  every  itn  married 
man  in  high  life  is  compelled  to  keep  a  mistress  whether  lie  likes 
it  or  not,  unless  he  would  put  his  character  in  jeopardy.'  And 
again,  ‘  In  England,  where  you  may  be  as  immoral  as  you  please, 
]^rovided  you  show  no  signs  of  being  ashamed  of  it.  (pp.  231,  232). 
To  criticize  such  statements  as  tliese  is  of  course  impossible ; 
surely  if  ^Ir.  Patmore  is  not  a  hopeless  idiot,  he  must  be  insane. 

His  next  literary  sketch  is  that  of  Mr.  Plumer  Ward,  the 
author  of  ‘Tremaine'  ‘De  V"ere,'&c.,  some  time  member  for  Cocker- 
mouth,  and  from  the  year  1804  to  1820,  a  subordinate  member 
of  the  government,  under  Mr.  Pitt,  the  Duke  of  Portland,  Mr. 
Perceval,  and  Lord  Holland.  His  connexion  with  Mr.  Ward 
arose  out  of  his  function  as  literary  reviser  to  Mr.  Colburn.  Mr. 
Ward  a])pears  to  have  been  a  man  singularly  diffident  of  his  own 
literary  ability ;  and  hence  in  his  coiTcspondence  with  his  ]mb- 
lisher  before  knowing  ^Ir.  Patmore  even  by  name,  lie  indicates  a 
respect  for  the  critical  talents  of  the  latter  gentleman,  which  Mr. 
Patmore  exhibits  most  amusingly  in  letters  which  would  seem  to 
be  given  to  the  public  for  the  sole  purpose  of  displaying  this 
flattering  but  mistaken  homage.  Like  all  ^Ir.  Patmore’s  ac¬ 
quaintances,  Mr.  Ward  makes  the  nearest  approach  to  perfection. 
Indeed  his  eulogist  boldly  states,  that  ‘  he  has  never  been  sur- 
])assed,  at  all  events  among  prose  writers,  in  his  delineations  of 
the  female  character.'  We  are  tempted  to  inquire  why  then 
should  so  distinguished  a  man  require  the  editorial  services  of 
Mr.  Patmore  ? — and  this  problem  he  obligingly  solves  : — 

‘Ho  wished,’  says  Mr.  Patmore,  ‘to  obtain  for  that  work  (‘ ’i're- 
maine’),  during  its  passage  through  the  press,  the  benetit  of  such  sug¬ 
gestions  in  regard  to  mere  style  and  composition,  as  might  seem  called 
for  in  the  judgment  of  some  professional  writer,  whose  practice  in 
connexion  with  the  critical  literature  of  the  day,  might  be  su])])Osed  to 
have  given  him  those  facilities  in  handling  the  mere  mechanism  of 
composition,  which  nothing  hut  long  ])ractiee  can  impart.*  And  again, 

‘  that  mere  mechanical  facility  of  hand  (so  to  speak)  which  long  ])rac- 
tiee  may  give  to  any  hand,  and  the  absence  of  it  must  withhold  Irom 
all.’ — Voi.  ii.  pp.  3,  4,  o. 

These  passages  give  at  once  the  key  to  Mr.  Patmore's  literary 
position.  He  who  regards  ‘style  and  composition'  as  mere 
mechanical  accomplishments,  which  any  man  can  obtain  by  an 
almost  manual  practice,  is  profoundly  ignorant  of  the  first  prin¬ 
ciples  of  literature.  This  writer  has  evidently  never  gone  far 
enough  into  the  subject  to  acquaint  himself  with  its  difficulties. 
He  talks  of  composition  as  an  organ-blower  would  of  Handel  s 
symphonies,  or  as  a  compositor  would  of  the  writings  of 
Burke.  He  evidently  has  no  conception  of  the  scholarship  and 


PATMORE’S  FRIEyDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE.  711 

the  taste  eni^endered  by  an  intimacy  with  the  higliest  models, 
which  are  necessary  to  produce  the  ingenious  precision  and  the 
allusive  and  evanescent  charms  of  a  perfect  style — charms  which, 
ev^en  were  it  possible  to  tlissect  them,  wonld  be  mangled  and 
destroyed  by  the  process.  But  even  were  Mr.  Patmore’s  notion 
as  correct  as  it  is  ignorant,  he  would  be  one  of  the  last  persi^ns 
competent  to  revise  the  style  and  composition  of  another,  llis 
own  is  defective,  and  blumiering  to  absolute  illiteracy.  Of  this  wo 
will  here  present  a  few  illustrations.  Within  a  page  of  the  last  (|uo- 
tation  he  designates  Mr.  Ward  as  a  man  ‘  foivards  whom  he  w'as 
accustomed  to  look  vj)  to*  The  word  mutual  is  used  at  least 
thirty  times  in  these  volumes,  and  in  every  instance  incorrectly, 
as  ‘  a  mutual  friend,’  and  the  like.  The  phrase,  ‘  for  the  time 
being,’  is  another  favourite  one  with  !Mr.  l^itmore,  and  is  inva¬ 
riably  adopte«l  in  ignorance  of  its  meaning.  At  vol.  i.  p.  1  we 
have — ‘  The  adv'ocate  overstepped  the  extreme.st  limits  of  his  pro- 
fes.sional  duty,  ])y  attempting  to  screen  his  client  at  the  risk  of  an 
innocent  person’s  life  ;  and  ivltlch  attempt,’  «!!cc.  At  p.  -1  we  llnd 
the  Frencli  and  English  described  as  ‘  two  civilized  ])eople.'  At 
vol.  ii.  page  St,  he  makes  Mr.  Ward  commit  the  blunder  in  Latin 
of  ‘  servitur  nd  imum  ;’  while  in  another  place  we  have  ‘  symposii' 
instead  of  ‘  symposia.’  At  vol.  iii.  p.  53,  he  mangles  Milton’s  well- 
known  line — 

*  Fixed  fate,  free  will,  fore-knowledge  absolute,* 

into 

‘  Fate,  free  will,  and  reason  al).‘«olute.* 

At  page  1 33,  he  attempts  to  (|uote  the  epigram  beginning 
‘  I  do  not  like  thee.  Doctor  Fell,’ 

but  makes  it  absurd  by  omitting  the  third  line.  At  ]>agc  13(5 
we  have,  ‘  who  he,  Moore,  calls  low  ])eople.’  At  page  2(50,  ])oor 
Doctor  Parr  is  accused  of  attributing  to  Sheridan,  as  a  boy, 
‘  great  acuteness,  excellent  liiKlerstainliiKjy  wit,  and  humour, 
but  not  a  particle  of  understanding.’  And  at  ])age  284*,  we  Hinl 
Mr.  Burke’s  well-known  pas.sage,  ‘  Vice  itself  loses  half  its  evil  ])y 
losing  all  its  grossness,’  transmuted  into  ‘  stripping  vice  of  its 
coarsenes.s,  and  thus  depriving  it  of  half  its  deformity.’  Mr.  Pat¬ 
more’s  inverted  commas  aj)pear  to  have  gone  mad  in  the  com¬ 
positor’s  case,  and  to  have  rushed  about  seeking  what  they  might 
devour.  We  find  them  embracing  the  words  'good  advice' 
(page  1(53),  'made  up  his  mind’ (page  103),  and  literally  the 
word  'going,’  (200.)  These  are  but  .samples  of  the  blunders 
which  distigure  every  page  of  this  practised  adept  at  'style  and 
composition.’ 

In  the  reminiscences  of  Mr.  Ward,  by  far  the  amplest  which 
these  volumes  contain,  the  most  interesting  feature  is  the  singular 


n;it- '  t  ’  » 


7i2 


Patmore's  friends  and  acquaintance. 


7iiodesty  of  the  literary  politician,  though  the  effect  of  this  is 
constantly  clamped  by  the  exhibition  of  the  opposite  quality  in 
the  biographer. 

Mr.  Patmore's  recollections  of  Horace  and  James  Smith  are 
Hat  and  uninteresting,  and  from  one  of  his  observations,  we  should 
judge  that  he  has  no  discriminating  appreciation  of  the  merits 
of  that  work  by  which  both  will  be  best  known,  ‘  The  llejected 
Addresses.'  He  mentions,  as  the  choicest  of  these  celebrated 
imitations,  those  of  Byron,  Scott,  ^loore,  and  FitzgeraM  only. 
One  of  these  certainly  stands  preeminent,  namely,  that  of  Scott ; 
the  others  are  far  surpassed  by  those  of  Crabbe,  Southey,  Johnson, 
Cobbett,  and  Laura  Alatilda. 


AVith  poor  ^Ir.  Hazlitt  s  memory  Patmore  makes  sad  havoc, 
and  in  doing  so  exhibits  himself  in  a  light  which  must  call  a 
blush  to  the  faces  of  his  friends.  Take,  for  example,  his  descri])- 
ticm  of  one  of  his  earliest  interviews  with  Hazlitt,  in  which  he 


accompanied  him  home  from  a  lc‘Cture.  The  following  is  a  ])art 
of  liis  descrijjtioii,  which  we  give  with  all  the  vulgarity  cJ  his 
own  tv])e  and  inverted  commas — ‘In  my  innocence  1  actually 
vfeved  Itiin  ony  arin,  which  he  took  I  and  so  we  Svalked  arm- 
in-arm  through  the  whole  of  Fleet-street,  the  Strand,  Parliament- 


street,'  &c.  The  ‘general  reader’  will  wonder  what  there  was  extra¬ 
ordinary  in  this,  but  the  initiated  will  not  believe  it.  To  walk 
straight  hcmie  at  ten  o’clock  at  night,  ‘  in  a  resj)ectable  and  gentle¬ 
manlike  manner  !'  It  cannot  have  been  I  Arm-in-arm,  too,  and 


with  a  very  young  gentleman  in  a])oint  device  costume  !  1  think 
I  hear  Charles  Lamb  exclaim,  ‘Why,  the  angel  Gabriel  could  not 
have  persuaded  Hazlitt  to  walk  arm-in-arm  with  him  for  half  the 
length  of  Southampton-buildings.'  ‘  Perhaps  not,  but  with  a 
'icriter  in  BlaclwootVs  Muyazine  it  was  ditlerent ;  one,  too,  who 
had  tacitly  engaged  to  give  a  favourable  account  of  him' 
(vol.  iii.  p.  27I).  But  while  all  this  puppyism  is  very  pitiable,  his 
delineations  of  Hazlitt's  character  show  that  he  had  not  in  his 


mind  any  intelligent  idea  and  estimate  of  it ;  for  examj)le,  at 
page  27-,  we  find  that  ‘  the  plague-spot  of  his  personal  character 
was  an  ingrained  seltishness,  which  more  or  less  intluenced  and 
inoditied  all  the  other  points  of  his  nature.'  Yet,  on  the  very 
next  page,  he  writes,  ‘  1  never  knew  him  to  do  a  base  or  mean 
action,  and  I  have  known  him  do  many  that  might  fairly  claim 
to  be  deemed  magnanimous  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  ot  the 
term.  It  would  i)e  the  basest  of  libels  upon  Hazlitt  to  describe 
him  as  mean-souled  man ;'  while,  at  page  289,  he  described  him 
as  endowed  ‘  with  the  most  social  disposition  of  any  man  1  ever 
met  with,  and  an  active  and  ever  present  sympathy  with  the 
claims,  the  wants,  and  the  feelings  of  every  human  being  whom 
he  approached.' 


Patmore’s  friends  and  acqu.untancr 


713 


But  perhaps  the  most  disgusting  part  of  these  volumes  is 
Mr.  Patmore’s  dt^scriptiou  of  Hazlitt  s  im]>ressions  at  a  prize¬ 
fight,  which  he  had  induced  him  to  witness  for  the  first,  and 
probably  for  tiie  last  time.  Patmore’s  smug  apology  for  his 
uncivilized  propensity  is  to  our  taste  inexpressibly  nauseous.  He 
biiys,  ‘  1  had  at  the  period  in  (jut^stion  the  prevalent  passion  for 
prize-tighting  strong  upon  me.  (Cienlle  reader,  it  is  a  long  while 
ago,  and  1  know  better  now ;  howbeit  it  is  the  prize-tightei*s 
tliemselves  who  have  cured  me — not  the  preachers  against  tlieni).' 
But  his  attempt  to  invest  this  brutal  practice  with  an  air  of  sub¬ 
limity  and  intellectuality  is  ecpially  disgusting  and  absurd,  and 
so  fairly  sickens  us  of  the  book,  ;is  to  induce  us  to  lay  it  by,  with 
a  very  few  additional  observations,  in  mercy  to  our  readers  and 
ourselves. 

‘  I  was  tot>  anxious,’  he  says,  ‘about  the  gn'at  event’  (this  great 
event  being  the  nuitual  mutilation  of  Xeate,  a  Bristol  hnteher,  and  the 
‘  (xivs-inan’)  ‘  1  had  eome  seventy  iniK's  to  see,  to  take  nmeh  notiee  of 
its  elieets  upon  Hazlitt  while  it  was  going  on.  But  alter  it  was  all 
over  we  joined  eonipany,  and  then  found  that  he  had  taken  the  most 
])r()/ijtni(l  metaphysical  as  well  as  personal  int(‘rest  in  the  battle,  and  I 
never  heard  him  talk  finer  or  more  philosojihieally  than  he  did  on  tlie 
subject,  which  he  treated — and  justly,  1  thiidv — jus  one  eminently 
worthy  of  being  so  considmvd  ;ind  trejited.  As  a  study  of  human 
nature,  and  the  varieties  of  its  character  and  constitution^  he  look(‘d 
u]K)n  the  sc(*ne  as  the  finest  siyht  he  had  ever  witnessed  ;  and  asjidisphiy 
of  animal  courage  he  spoke  of  the  hjittle  as  nothing  slu)rt  of  snldiine.  1 
found  tliJit  he  had  paid  the  most  intense  Jittention  to  every  part  of  the 
combat — luid  wjitehed  the  various  chances  and  elninges  of  its  progress 
witli  tlie  eye  and  tact  of  jin  experienced  amateur.’ — Vol.  iii.  j).  lo. 

To  comment  on  sucli  iml>ocile  and  offensive  trash  as  this 
would  bi^  superfluous.  Tlie  only  fitting  critic  is  the  county 
magistrate,  and  the  only  criticism  the  trejidmill.  Indcetl  the 
entire  sketch  of  Mr.  Hazlitt  is  a  hideous  caricature.  Thus  in  one 
place  he  repn^sonts  him,  in  his  u.sual  styh‘  of  blind  exaggcrjition, 
as  the  most  discriminating  Jind  accomplisljed  of  critics,  yet  in 
another  he  thus  gives  us  his  judgment  on  ijonl  Byron’s  poetical 
writings,  the  bad  English  being  Mr.  Pjitmonds  own  : — ‘Anybody 
might  liave  written  his  poetry’  (so  Hjizlitt  thought  and  said),  *  if 
they  could  only  have  worked  themselves  uj)  to  an  ecpial  amount 
of  personal  rage  and  hatred  against  himself  jind  all  mankind.* 
This  ridiculous  criticism,  which  Hazlitt  never  could  have  uttered, 
Mr.  Patmore  sagaciously  endorses,  especially  with  reference  to 
‘Don  Juan.’  Jn  a  word,  we  are  convinced  that  nine-tenths  of 
Mr.  Patmore’s  reminiscences  are  jnirely  a]>ocr\’phal,  a  ridiculous 
illustration  of  which  occurs  at  page  vol.  iii.,  where  he  repre¬ 
sents  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  as  (pioting  from  a  L.atin  poem,  consisting  of 
three  hundred  lines,  every  word  ot  which  begins  with  the  letter  B! 


7U 


Foster’s  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


The  same  gross  exaggerations  and  defects  may  be  found  in 
every  page  of  the  two  remaining  sketches  of  Laman  Blanchard 
and  Mr.  Sheridan  ;  and  Mr.  Patmore’s  whole  performance,  if  it 
indicates  any  demand  on  the  part  of  the  public  for  works  of  so 
flimsy,  foolish,  and  unjustifiable  a  character,  shows  a  lamentable 
want  of  correct  taste  and  feeling  in  the  present  generation.  It 
may  be  needful  to  subject  literary  men,  and  such  as  have  exercised 
a  pow’erful  influence  on  society,  to  the  ordeal  of  criticism  after 
their  decease  ;  but  it  is  intolerable  that  their  most  sacred  privacy 
sliould  be  exhumed  for  an  inquest,  with  a  Patmore  for  coroner. 


Aiit.  VL — Ulrmrnfs  of  JurispruJencc.  By  Charles  James  Foster, 
31. A.,  LL.l).,  Barristor-at-Law,  Professor  of  J urisprudenee  at  Uni¬ 
versity  College.  Crown  Svo.  London  :  Walton  &  31aberlcy. 

J URlSPRUDENCE,  though  suiTOuiided  by  professional  associations, 
is  not  exclusively,  nor  indeed  specially,  the  province  of  a  parti¬ 
cular  class.  It  is  a  department  in  the  common  field  of  human 
knowledge,  sustaining  the  same  relation  to  the  pleader  at  the 
bar  as  geology  does  to  the  miner,  or  chemistry  to  the  dyer  of 
cottons.  Apart,  therefore,  from  any  peculiar  interest  attaching 
to  the  subject,  we  may  confidently  speak  of  it  as  a  sphere  in  wdiicli 
our  mental  powers  may  be  stimulated  to  a  high  degree.  But 
there  is  a  peculiar  interest  attaching  to  the  materials  of  this 
science,  as  will  readily  be  seen  from  its  connexion  at  once  with 
morality  and  legislation.  On  the  one  hand  it  is  mixed  up  with 
the  desires,  riglits,  and  interior  laws  of  the  soul,  wdiile  on  the 
other  it  determines  the  form  and  many  of  the  details  of  society ; 
supplying  authority,  and  defining  obedience  ;  presiding  over  the 
conflict  of  claims,  and  indicating  the  point  wdiere  common  riglits 
may  meet  without  mutual  injury.  Such  is  the  study  to  the  ele¬ 
ments  and  partial  development  of  which  Dr.  Foster  invites  our 
attention.  There  is  one  practical  hindrance  to  the  extensive 
popularity  of  his  work,  apart  from  the  indifference  just  alluded  to. 
It  arises,  we  appreliend,  from  the  cautiousness  of  an  honest  and 
accurate  mind  feeling  its  way  amidst  discarded,  disputed,  or  at 
least  unadmitted  opinions ;  but  from  whatever  cause  arising,  it 
is  certain  that  the  ordinary  reader  ivill  often  feel  obliged  to  pro¬ 
nounce  the  writer’s  meaning  undiscoverable.  And  this  difficulty  is 
only  the  more  disheartening  because  of  the  simplicity  and  chaste¬ 
ness  observable  in  the  mere  style.  We  hardly  dare,  in  the  present 
case,  impute  the  obscurity  to  confused  and  imperfect  conceptions ; 
indeed  we  cannot  do  so  after  examining  the  tabular  arrangement 


fostfr’s  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


715 


of  results  in  the  ‘  Bases  for  a  Science  of  Law.'  For  here  we  per¬ 
ceive  that  the  author  has  preserved  unbroken  the  cue  of  his  own 
reasonings,  and  that  he  lias  accpiired  a  high  degree  of  contidence 
in  the  soundness  of  his  first  principles,  as  also  in  the  practicability 
of  d(‘ducing  from  those  principles  a  consistent  system  of  law. 

It  may  not  he  necessary  to  explain,  otherwise  than  incidentally, 
the  jirecisc  meaning  of  the  terms  science,  law,  jurisprudence,  but 
for  convenience,  we  will  give  the  author's  account  of  Ids  peculiar 
science — ‘The  subject  matter  of  jurisprudence  is  natuml  law, 
or  that  course  of  human  condvct  u'hich  is  momlhj  enforceable 
hi/jnihlic  authority ;  the  (jualifying  ‘morally'  introduced  for  the 
purjiose  of  showing  that  authority  of  the  right  kind  cannot  bo 
exercised  in  violation  of  the  jiaramount  moral  constitution  of 
man,  from  which,  indeed,  it  derives  its  very  existence.  The  dis¬ 
covery  of  such  a  law  will  manifestly  involve  the  consideration  of 
many  abstruse  jihilosophical  questions,  unless  we  are  able  to  start 
with  some  general  statement  of  the  results  of  ethical  inqidry, 
such  statement  having  axiomatic  force.  If,  however,  uncertainty 
attach  to  the.so  appropriated  results,  they  may  be  employed  with 
the  undei-standing  that  the  new  science  is,  in  so  far,  flexible,  and 
possibly  improvable.  At  the  same  time*,  when  we  have  obtained 
a  basis  of  truth  (adndtted  in  one  science)  uj)on  which  we  ])roposo 
to  build  up  another  science,  we  must  ex})ect  little  further  lielp 
excepting  by  way  of  analogies  or  illustrations ;  inasmuch  as, 
according  to  the  able  exposition  of  Dr.  Whewell — ‘  Each  science 
must  advance  by  means  of  its  appro])riate  conce])tions,'  and 
wherever  this  canon  is  not  regarded,  confusion  }>uts  a  stop  to 
progress.  C>ur  author,  in  applying  the  jninciples  of  J)r.  AVlieweH's 
philosophy  to  the  non-j)hy8ical  sciences,  remarks  upon  the  con¬ 
fusion  and  controversy  that  have  ensued  in  tlie  field  of  jurispru¬ 
dence,  on  neglecting  to  keej)  in  view  the  ‘fundamental  idca.s,' 

‘  the  appropriate  conceptions'  of  this  science,  cOs  distingidshed  fnuii 
the  ‘  appropriate  conceptions’  of  sciences  that  are  related,  inde(*d, 
but  can  never  be  amalgamated.  He  instances  the  variety  and  oppo¬ 
sition  of  opinions  on  the  province  of  government  in  matters  of 
trade,  education,  and  worship.  Upon  which  we  cannot  refrain 
from  congratulating  the  uninitiated,  that,  however  the  case  may 
stand  with  the  formal  science,  progr(*ss  is  being  made  in  the 
elimination  from  the  sphere  of  jurispnidence  of  matters  that  are 
so  foreign  to  its  primary  idea  as  to  be  embarrassing,  and  at  tlie 
same  time  themselves  in  no  wise  advantaged.  Interference  with 
the  natural  laws  of  exchange  is  consigned  to  history  ;  and  we  are 
encouraged  to  believe  that  the  superintendence  of  education  and 
the  prescription  of  worship  will  speedily  follow. 

In  order  to  determine  the  position  of  jurisprudence  in  relation 
to  certain  other  sciences  with  which  it  is  associated,  and  from 


716 


foster’s  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


•which,  nevertheless,  it  must  he  separated,  the  arrangement 
deemed  preferable  thus  proceeds.  Metaphysics  takes  precedence 
as  the  science  of  sciences.  The  second  place  is  assigned  to 
political  economy,  a  somewhat  startling  position  confessedly,  but 
justitied  by  showing  that  before  we  know  what  men  ought  to  do, 
we  must  know"  what  they  wish  severally  and  relatively.  In  men 
severally  we  recognise  ‘  the  desire  of  having  but  in  the  condition 
in  which  v,e  live,  this  desire  becomes  a  willingness  to  exchange. 
Exchangeableness  (or  value)  is  the  fundamental  idea  of  political 
economy ;  in  other  words,  the  desire  of  having  does  not  neces¬ 
sarily  suggest  any  other  iilea  than  that  of  Uiking,  but  the  willing¬ 
ness  to  give  and  take  suggests  terms  and  ])rinciples  that 
mutual  satisfaction  may  be  secured.  A  want  and  a  supply 
are  the  simple  elements  with  which  this  science  is  concerned. 
Th  e  moralist  and  the  jurist  may  proceed  in  their  own  way,  the 
one  to  condemn,  and  the  other  to  forbid,  but  the  economist  looks 
only  at  the  qu  id  quo.  At  the  commencement  of  the  second 

lecture  we  read,  in  reference  to  the  arrangement  of  the  sciences 
concerned,  ‘^Ve  stated  their  relative  order  as  being — 1st,  meta¬ 
physics;  2nd,  ethics.’  We  do  not  understand  the  substitution  of 
ethics  for  political  economy,  after  such  pains  to  vindicate  the  pro¬ 
priety  of  the  reverse  order ;  but  we  adhere  to  the  first  position, 
and  introduce  ethics  as  third  in  order.  The  idea  of  responsibility 
exists  in  connexion  with  voluntary  actions,  so  far  as  they  may 
affect  others.  To  discover  the  law  of  this  responsibility  is  the 
first  task  of  moral  jdiilosophy.  Again,  ‘  Men  are  capable  of  being 
influenced  in  their  conduct  by  causes  ah  extra*  Under  what 
conditions  may  these  external  causes  be  brought  to  bear  uj)on 
the  voluntary  actions  of  men  w  ith  a  view  to  their  constraint  or 
restraint  ?  ‘  The  investigation  of  these  conditions  is  the  business 

of  jurispnidence.’ 

Retuming  now'  more  particularly  to  ethics,  we  find  that  we 
have  a  primary  notion  about  those  actions  wdiich  affect  others, 
and  which  we  may  either  do  or  not  as  we  choose.  It  is  desirable, 
nay,  in  the  author’s  opinion,  it  is  imperative,  that  we  get  rid  of 
the  (piestion,  ‘Why  ought  I  to  regard  the  effect  of  my  actions 
upon  others?’  Not,  by  the  answer,  ‘  Because  you  ouqltt ;  as  it 
this  were  an  ultimate  idea,  but  by  furnishing  ‘a  fundamental  law 
of  duty  considered  as  a])plicable  to  all  conceivable  relations 
between  sentient  and  intelligent  beings,  and  which  is  self- 
evidently  to  govern  the  conduct  of  such  beings  tow^ards  each 
other  under  any  circumstances;  a  principle  which  is  to  lulfil 
the  four  conditions  of  Cousin — of  being  immutable,  absolute, 
universal,  and  necessary ;’  and  such  a  principle  and  such  a  law 
are  asserted  to  exist  in  tlie  precept  commonly  called  the  Golden 
Rule.  A  few"  of  the  immediately  preceding  steps  of  the  argu- 


Foster's  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


I 

4  14 

meiit  will  perhaps  indicate  with  sufficient  clearness  how  the 
author  amves  at  the  conclusion  above  stab'd, — thougli  much 
mii^ht  be  said,  and  somethini^  must  bo  said,  and  he  himself  has 
said  much,  about  this  law  of  iluty. 

\\  heu  1  siiy,  ‘  I  must  do  a  certain  thing,'  I  give  expression  to  a 
necessity,  but  it  is  not  a  physical  necessity  ;  it  must  be  refernvl 
to  tlie  original  conception  which  the  miiid  lias  of  the  necessary 
character  ot  actions  that  are  capable  of  atiecting  otliers — the 
conception  is  a  moral  one,  and  the  nect^ssity  recognised  is  a 
moral  necessity,  and  the  sense  of  tliat  necessity  may  be  termed 
a  moral  sense.  The  sense  of  duty  is  the  of  moral 
Tlien  the  (juestiou  arises,  How  is  tiiis  sense  to  be  prompted,  or 
rather  guided  i  And  the  reply  is  the  rule  aliove  mentioned — 
or  as  it  is  stated  in  the  a])peniled  ‘  Bases.' 

‘  The  conception  supposes — a  plural  if  i/  of  hriu(/!t^  who  are  infclVujrnf^ 
gelf-iluferminin(j,  ami  mufualltf  aentient.  The  eone<*ption  is — of  a 
principle  of  action  between  such  beimjs  necessarily  resulting  from  the 
relation  involved  in  these  attributes. 

‘  The  name  for  moral  necessity  is  duty,  'fhe  sense  of  duty  is  the 
sense  of  moral  necessity,  or  the  moral  sense. 

‘  That  to  which  the  moral  sense  attributes  necessity  is  the  doing 
right. 

‘  Uight  is — doing  as  you  would  he  done  by.’ — p.  W2. 

We  need  hardly  acknowledge  the  special  satisfaction  we  have 
felt  in  seeing  the  boldness  with  which  tlie  scriptural  jirecept  ha.s 
been  announced  as  the  great  etliical  law,  and  the  ability  with 
which  our  autlior  defends  its  asserted  position  ;  but  at  the  same 
time,  we  confess  to  many  lingering  doubts, — doubts  which  will 
intrude  even  upon  beliefs  which  our  habits,  and  conse(|uent  pre¬ 
ference,  have  hallowed.  The  very  extensive  explanations  a)»pa- 
rently  demainled  by  tlie  more  remote  moral  problems,  teiul  to 
remove  this  ])rincii>le  from  the  region  <jf  necessary  s(‘lf-evident 
truth,  and,  thus  far,  invalidate  its  claims  to  be  a  fundamenUil 
idea.  This  much,  however,  can  be  .said  in  defence,  that  the 
principle  is  even  more  capable  of  application  in  ])ra(;tice,  and  as 
a  (piickener  of  the  con.science,  than  any  other  that  luis  been 
distinctly  stated  ;  while  in  those  cases  where  it  seems  to  halt,  tlie 
preponderance  is  always  in  its  favour,  if  ample  time  be  given  for 
reasoning  out  the  precise  mode  of  its  ajipliciition.  Jn  addition 
to  such  considerations,  we  must  not  forget  the  intluence  of  a 
direct  divine  sanction ;  nor  will  we  sutfer  its  divine  origin  to  be 
altogether  disputed.  After  noticing  (through  Putfendorffij  the 
announcement  of  this  law  by  Aristotle,  Seneca,  and  others,  the 
paragraph  (p.  46)  concludes,  ‘and,  indeed,  this  is  no  other  than 
that  great  rule  prescribed  by  our  Saviour  himself,  of  doing  to 
men  as  we  would  be  done  by.' 


718 


Foster's  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


Now,  it  may  be  rather  captious  criticism,  but  we  arc  jealous 
and  beg  to  maintain  that  there  is  an  important  diti’erence,  at 
least  in  the  tone,  between  the  heathen  and  the  Chiistian  maxims. 
The  former  wears  the  aspect  of  a  witty  suggestion,  for  the  resto¬ 
ration  of  broken  peace,  or  the  maintenance  of  courteous  relations* 
the  latter  marches  with  majesty,  fosters  the  habit  of  active 
benevolence,  bears  the  stamp  of  a  positive  morality,  and,  not 
content  with  marking  dishonouringly,  negligence  and  violation, 
it  ob.serves  and  provides  for  the  entire  range  of  human  well-being 
That  we  are  authorized  in  making  this  distinction  will  appeal* 
from  the  statements  in  Dr.  Foster’s  work,  that  previous  casuists 
generally  have  refused  any  further  regard  to  the  maxim  than  as 
a  means  of  preserving  the  impartiality  (or  reproving  the  unfair¬ 
ness)  of  the  judgment,  in  cases  where  self-love  is  likely  to  inter¬ 
vene.  We  are  not  surprised  that  the  keen  intellect  of  Hobbes 
could  extract  no  more  from  it,  so  long  as  it  presented  itself  to  liis 
mind  in  the  form  of  a  mere  occasional  hmt  to  a  hesitating  mind. 
Do  not  that  to  others  you  u'ould  not  lutve  done  to  yourself. 
Neither,  on  the  other  hand,  are  we  surprised  that  Dr.  8.  Clarke, 
deriving  it  from  Scripture,  in  its  positive  and  mandatory  shape, 
should  have  adopted  it  reverently  as  the  fundamental  principle 
of  morality. 

Many  objections,  subtle  and  teasing  rather  than  wise,  have 
])een  advanced  against  the  universality  and  ultimacy  of  this 
principle,  but  after  the  comments  of  the  author  on  several  of 
these  objections,  our  faith  has  increased,  our  acceptance  is  cor¬ 
dial,  but  at  the  same  time  candid.  We  feel  the  force  and  value 
of  the  primary  truth,  but  look  upon  it  as  a  screw;  it  takes  along 
time  and  many  windings  to  drive  it  home  ;  it  luis  not  the  wonted 
pliability  of  a  final  truth. 

Notwithstanding  the  timidity  which  we  predict  will  occa¬ 
sionally  characterize  the  attempt  to  apply  this  principle  univer¬ 
sally,  the  author  will  unquestionably  succeed  in  impressing  the 
student’s  mind  with  a  general  confidence  in  its  soundness,  as 
much  by  the  calm  manner  in  which  he  offers  the  key  to  (jues- 
tions  insoluble  on  other  hypotheses,  as  by  the  terse  vigour  of  his 
logic  whenever  he  has  victory  plainly  in  his  sight.  To  any  highly 
trained  undei'standing,  the  following  summary  of  attributes  would 
probably  at  first  suggest  the  desirableness  of  a  suspicious  attitude, 
for  the  purpose  of  minute  examination  ;  but  would  also  as  pro¬ 
bably  entice  to  a  premature  belief ;  so  rough  is  the  voyage  of 
the  investigator,  that  the  mere  cloud-line  of  his  horizon  is  often 
welcomed  from  its  resemblance  from  afar  to  the  shore  that  is 
still  far  a>vay  : — 

‘  We  have,  therefore,  a  primary  law,  which  is  at  once  universal, 
immutable,  absolute,  and  necessary.  It  is  necessary,  Iwcause  it  cannot 


Foster's  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


719 


but  exist  (or,  to  express  it  differently,  because  our  minds  cannot  do 
otherwise  than  conceive  of  it)  in  relation  to  any  action  which  affects 
am)ther ;  it  is  immutable,  as  there  is  no  supj)osable  circumstance  under 
which  actions  may  be  done,  which  modify  its  force ;  it  is  universal,  as 
there  are  no  actions  which  it  does  not  govern ;  it  is  absolute,  as  it  is 
unnecessary  to  its  abstract  truth  that  such  beings  as  we  sujjposo 
should  have  any  actual  existence,  or  such  actions  as  we  have  repre¬ 
sented,  should  ever  be  j)erformcd.’ — p.  00. 

It  this  be  a  true  representation  of  the  scientific  character  of  the 
great  law,  we  ought  to  be  able  to  describe  it  with  some  precision 
and  intelligibleness,  or  in  other  words,  we  should  be  able  to 
convey  our  own  judgment  on  the  matter,  in  such  a  way  as  to 
ensure  identity  of  judgment  in  another  intelligent  being.  This 
test,  like  several  others,  is  ap]died  with  evident  ease  and  success 
by  the  introduction  of  a  piissage  from  CJrotius,  to  which  the 
author’s  idea  and  ])rinciple  of  duty  in  the  human  mind  arc 
decidedly  conformable. 


‘  The  law  of  Nature  is  that  which  is  dictated  by  sound  reason,  indi¬ 
cating  with  respect  to  any  action,  from  its  self-approvcahlcness  (con- 
venientia),  or  the  contrary,  to  a  reasonahle  nature,  conscious  of  the 
cH'ect  of  its  actions  upon  other  beings,  that  “  it  has  in  itself  a  mond 
necessity  or  unworthiness ;  and  is  conse(pi(*ntly  commanded  or  for¬ 
bidden  by  (lod,  the  author  of  Nature.”- — (irotius.  Duty,  according  to 
our  notion  of  it,  is  that  which  is  dictated  bv  sound  rea,son.  The  rule 
of  doing  as  3'ou  would  be  done  by,  does  approve  itself  Jis  a  matter  of 
sound  reason,  to  a  reasonable  nature  conscious  of  the  effect  of  its  actions 
upon  otluTs.* 


Still  further,  if  this  rational  theorem  of  Grotius  l>e  applied  to 
any  other  of  the  commonly  received  views  of  the  subject,  they 
are  instantly  pronounced  short-coming. 

The  fourth  lecture  brings  us  at  length  to  the  proper  subject  of 
the  work.  Here  there  is  a  formal  boundary-line  traced  so  as  to 
exclude  all  matters  that  do  not  l)elong  to  the  circle  of  jurispru¬ 
dence.  There  must  ever  be  a  close  connexion  and  fre<|uent 
reference  between  that  science  and  ethics,  inasmuch  as  morality 
must  determine  in  a  great  measure  when  the  public  authority 
may  riglitfully  compel  the  performance  of  private  duty.  But 
the  moment  we  seize  on  the  germ  notion  of  righteous  law,  we 
perceive  that  though  narrow  the  strip,  we  do  sUmd  between  two 
sejis— we  arc  morally  bound  to  do  good  to  our  fellow-men  as  far 
as  powder  serves — but  the  law  can  only  require  that  we  do  not, 
with  their  assent  even  in  some  cases,  without  their  assent  in 
others,  make  their  condition  other  than  it  actually  ia  Thus  the 
subject  matter  of  which  jurisprudence  treats  is  seen  to  be  ^  ike 
voluntary  conduct  of  kuDuin  beinys  altering  the  Hiatus  quo  of 
others  without  their  consent.'  But  this  element  of  consent 


7-20 


Foster’s  elements  of  jurisprudence. 


appe.ars  to  us  to  breed  mystery  in  the  theoiy,  although  daily 
observation  of  legal  processes  may  avail  to  obviate  all  real  dith- 
culty  and  danger;  indeed  Dr.  Foster  himself  indicates  certain 
])riiiciples,  by  force  of  which,  while  the  law  cannot  restrain  a  man 
from  intoxication,  for  instance,  it  is  not  bound  to  protect  him 
from  its  results.  Of  course,  if  consent  were  a  justifying  element, 
the  law  would  have  no  o])tion  ;  it  must  mete  out  the  exact  amount 
of  justification  attaching  to  this  as  to  any  other  feature  of  the  case. 
A  man  may  indeed  consent  to  be  murdered  (as  in  a  duel),  but 
according  to  the  advanced  state  of  public  morality,  and  inde^nl 
according  to  the  fundamental  principle  of  right  action,  both 
victor  and  victim  have  violated  law  ;  have  altered  the  stains  qvo 
of  each  other ;  and  their  common  consent  to  the  trial  and  issue 
can  justify  neither. 

A\'e  would,  therefore,  treat  the  element  of  consent  as  it  is 
actually  regarded,  in  the  light  of  a  variable  (quantity,  which 
serves  as  a  check  to  the  careless  and  wholesale  application  of  pre¬ 
cedents  or  of  wide-sweeping  statutes. 

Another  modifying  principle  to  be  observed  in  the  construction 
of  law  introduces  us  to  an  arena  not  so  much  of  conflict  as  of 
exhilarating  and  profitable  exercise.  As  a  matter  of  fact  laws 
arc  for  the  most  part  remedial,  but  where  they  are  prospective, 
for  instance,  constitutional  laws,  they  must  have  respect  to  the 
rights  of  man  ;  and  the  definition  of  these  rights  in  the  eye  of 
the  law,  as  contradistinguislied  from  what  Dr.  Whewell  calls 
‘  moral  claims,’  is  a  matter  of  immense  moment  and  requiring 
great  care.  The  law  is  not  co-extensive  with  duty ;  but  where 
duties  devolve,  the  rights  necessary  for  their  discharge  must  be 
not  only  defended  by  law  against  repression,  but  held  altogether 
sac.eil  from  interference. 

The  old  division  of  the  rights  of  Nature  is  indeed  very  meagre, 
altogether  out  of  proportion  to  the  vast  area  of  which  law  has 
already  taken  cognizance.  Tlie  rights  appertaining  to  the  intfd- 
lectual  and  spiritual  nature  are  either  ignored,  or  clumsily 
reduced  under  the  head  of  ‘Use  of  Limbs,’  or  ‘  Kight  of  Loco¬ 
motion.’  Kmendation  was  indeed  desirable  here,  and  the  means 
of  emendation  have  been  partly  furnished,  partly  collected  and 
admirably  systematized  by  Dr.  Whew’ell.  Our  author  is  espe¬ 
cially  charnuHi  with  this  classification  of  wants  and  rights  because 
it  fits  in  with  his  own  theory  most  readily,  and  more  especially 
as  tending  to  remove  the  influence  of  anger  and  fear,  the  two 
passions  which  pre  eminently,  though  in  a  different  way,  disturb 
tlie  stains  quo.  ^Vhen  we  have  reached  the  stage  where  we 
admit  that  certain  actions  or  certain  inaction  are  compellable, 
we  are  forthwith  urged  to  decide  the  limits  of  the  right  of  force, 
and  also  the  executive,  in  which  that  right  shall  be  lodged. 


m>.bnts  o»  721 

1.  .1.0 — »'■  ‘'t 

ri  i»-aiy  b«  t«r  u.. 

tnuturo  ol  aes.rlrUon  ot  a  ^vitl. 

llfTok  conduct  of  ‘;,u.  the  authority 

t.£“js  i: f  t  r  ivr;;p:  -f  it- 

Independence,  \nd  to  secure  tl.is  there 

i,.  ™»»c'|oc»“  ■  '  tl,\.»a  cBc  f«  a‘«  -  t,««a  '«• 

f '‘a.^STea  *  a»t «.  -sia  .11  — . 

.„«  a..  ;“*";t;kcr,“la’  rlslalul  1'?  “'."''ri  “rt 

even,  .Nhicli  ',kte  a  great  tnoral  .  M  . 


“".^.!Strne;;;sity,anditre<p..resto-^^ 

SirourMuost  "X  meieh  'So 

1C  lUll 


denionstratca  Y  -  j,„v,H.TSon  is  tounu  in 

property  .^'‘‘‘-"//.ano  lier,  it  t«‘ust  he  o  umc.l  ^ 

‘of  a  tiling  ,!"a  l.ut  only  by  lorce  <  ‘  ,,,^.rvc 

sovereignty— or  u  j^ives  tlic  con 

80  generally  ad\ocatt  ,  ^ 

^  -VOK  VIU. 


•  ••‘•u-.o 


FOSTEll'S  ELEMENTS  OF  JURISPRUDENCE. 


amenable  to  the  law ;  so  that  law  may  be  independent  of  any 
moral  character,  and  revolutions,  without  exception,  indefensible. 
But  with  Dr.  Foster  s  definition  of  law  we  are  able  to  establish 
the  abstract  right  of  resistance,  though  great  difficulty  is  found  in 
determining  the  exact  measure  of  the  right,  and  the  proper  time 
for  its  assertion.  l.aw  being  simply  an  equivalent  ex])rcssion 
for  enforceable  duty,  if  it  be  violated,  force  may  be  ap])lied 
indifterently  to  sovereign  and  subject  We  suppose  that  tb.ere 
could  not  be  two  opinions  on  this  matter,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
question — in  whom  is  the  right  of  force  now  lodged  ?  The  joint 
right  of  the  whole  nation  has  been  represented  and  maintained 
by  the  very  individual  or  l)ody  now  to  be  compelled  ; — who  shall 
compel  ?  We  admit  the  very  grave  difficulty  of  the  question  in 
theory,  but  we  know  the  answer  sujiplied  by  history.  The  whole 
community,  or  the  majority,  resume  the  original  right,  and, 
roused  by  glaring  aggressions,  impatient  of  the  distinctions  of  the 
thinker,  rush  to  the  accomplishment  of  a  fact  which  the  thinker 
may  examine  at  his  leisure,  and  which  he  will  doubtless  pronounce 
good.  But  even  the  theoretical  difficulty  may  be  j)artly  obviated 
by  attending  to  the  caution — so  serious  a  disturbance  of  society  as  is 
understood  by  a  revolution  should  not  be  entered  upon  w  ithout  a 
fair  ]  >rosj)ect  of  success.  The  force  of  this  caution  is  made  apparent 
by  destroying  the  distinction  between  law'  as  it  is  and  law'  as  it 
ought  to  be.  Daw'  is  as  it  ought  to  be — enforceable  duty  has 
reference  to  existing  desires  acknowledged  by  the  majority  of  the 
community.  The  community  may  be  ignorant,  and  their  desires 
simjde,  and  their  rights  accordingly  few^;  or  it  may  be  debased,  cou' 
fesseilly  needing  a  great  moral  reformation  ;  but  still  law'  has  no 
concern  with  their  moral  responsibilities  at  large,  only  with  such 
as  are  enforceable,  and  these  are  such  as  are  recognised  by  tlie 
bulk  of  the  people.  It  is  undoubtedly  very  deplorable  wickedness 
to  enslave  a  man,  and  he  who  keeps  a  slave  will  be  brought  to 
heavy  judgment  at  the  bar  of  God  ;  but  the  duty  of  freeing  the 
American  negro  is  not  as  yet  enforceable  by  public  authority. 
The  extending  ex})erience  of  the  evils  of  the  sj'stem,  or,  let  us  hope, 
the  advancing  stanelard  of  public  morality,  may  at  length  transfer 
the  duty  of  manumission  to  the  care  of  the  sovereign  authority  ; 
then  it  will  bo  illegal,  as  w’ell  as  immoral,  to  retain  a  slave.  But 
law  cannot  be  made  aa‘ountable  for  the  moral  deformity  of  a 
peo[)le  ;  it  can  only  s))eak  the  sentiments  of  the  society  it  presides 
over.  The  w  ise  few'  must  leaven  the  mass  w  ith  their  convictions, 
])rivateiy  reform  the  corruptions  they  mourn,  and  at  length,  when, 
from  the  ])revalence  of  their  belief,  success  is  sure,  proceed  to 
revolutionize  the  law'.  We  perceive  now'  the  reasonableness  ot 
the  maxim,  ‘Success  alone  can  justify  revolution."  Our  own 
revolution  could  not  have  taken  place  two  years  earlier,  and  any 


LORD  CARLISLE’S  TUJIKISH  AND  GREEK  WATERS. 


723 


attempt  would  have  been  condemnable ;  for,  though  James  was 
in  a  liigh  degree  deserving  of  dethronement,  the  bulk  of  the 
people  dijl  not  as  yet  think  so.  They  did  not  recognise  their  own 
duty  to  de|K)se  a  false  king.  A  duty  it  doubtless  was,  but  until 
generally  felt,  altogether  out  of  the  pale  of  rights  and  Jaw.  The 
right  of  individual  resistance,  in  the  sluipe  of  disobedience  to  a 
law  deemed  immoral,  is  a  much  more  delicate  case.  The  fact 
ap|)ears  to  be,  that  when  any  j)rece])t  of  law  is  in  violation  of  a 
man^s  conscience,  he  is  morally  inhibited  from  obedience,  and  shut 
up  to  the  alternative  penalty.  To  escape  from  the  j)enalty  there 
is  only  one  method.  By  illumining  the  public  mind,  the  time 
will  come  for  revising  the  ])ul)lic  law.  The  apostles  understood 
this  principle,  and  laid  it  down,  not  so  much  of  authority  as  a 
matter  of  course — ‘  All  that  will  live  godly  in  Christ  Jesus  shall 
suffer  ])ersecution.'  Suppose  universal,  or  even  very  general 
godliness,  then  impiisitory  and  ])enal  statutes  would  be  known 
no  more. 

We  conclude  our  brief  notice  of  the  work  by  re«asserting  its 
claims  on  the  very  serious  attention  of  all  who  honestly  desire  to 
see  the  foundations  of  society  rendered  stable — that  is,  resting  on 
truth  and  the  everlasting  laws  of  God ;  of  those,  too,  who, 
moved  by  the  strength  either  of  conviction  or  ])assion,  are  too 
hasty  in  their  attempt  to  seize  their  su])posed  rights,  tram]>ling 
<lown  in  their  hurry  the  indisputable  rights  of  others,  and  the 
iiuthority  of  social  law. 


Art.  VI 1. — iJiary  in  Tnrkiah  and  (ireck  iratrrs.  By  the  Bight 
Hon.  tlie  Karl  of  Carlisle.  Third  Kdition.  J*ost  Svo.  pp. 


bondon  :  Longman  A  Co. 


This  is  just  such  a  volume  as  our  ])rcvious  knowhdge  of  Lord 
Carlisle  had  led  us  to  anticipate.  Few  mend)ers  of  the  British 
aristocracy  possess  ecpial  claims  on  the  resjx'ct  and  goodwill  of 
their  couiitrymeii.  He  makes  no  pretensions  to  originality  of 
re.search,  to  profound  scholarshij),  or  to  a  more  recondite  j)hilo- 
Sophy,  than  is  possessed  by  the  great  body  of  roHecting  men. 
Yet  the  absence  of  all  pretension  is  richly  coinj)onsated  by  many 
admirable  (|ualities.  The  traces  are  everywhere  apparent  of 
good  feeling,  chussical  Uiste,  and  extensive  reading  ;  combined 
with  much  amiableness,  great  l)enignancy,  and  the  liigdier 
attributes  of  religious  culture.  The  time  of  bis  lordship  s  visit  to 
the  East  would  have  been  a  strong  temi)tation  to  most  men  to 
merge  the  past  in  the  present,  to  forego  the  large  and  the 

3  A  2 


LOUD  Carlisle’s  Turkish  and  creek  waters. 


generous  in  the  questionable  zeal  of  one  deeply  interested  in  the 
events  which  were  occurring.  His  lordship,  however,  has  pre¬ 
served  a  happy  medium,  in  which  his  scholarship  and  his 
patriotism,  his  classical  tastes  and  his  deep  sympathies  with 
human  progress  are  exquisitely  blended.  There  is  no  difficulty 
in  ascertaining  his  views  on  the  questions  which  are  now  upper¬ 
most  in  men’s  thoughts ;  but  these  views  are  never  offensively 
obtruded,  so  as  to  mar  the  quiet  enjoyment  which  his  volume 
furnishes.  He  left  London  on  the  3rd  of  June,  1853,  and  in  the 
prospect  of  liis  journey,  tells  us,  ‘  I  go  towards  the  venerable  and 
mysterious  East  with  a  fixed  conviction  upon  my  mind  that  it  is 
about,  very  shortly,  to  become  the  theatre  of  completed  Scripture 
prophecy,  and  of  a  commencing  new  dispensation  of  events.’ 
This  conviction,  he  says,  was  formed  long  before  the  present  war. 
Our  readers  will  bear  in  mind  that  at  this  time  the  rupture 
between  Russia  and  the  Porte  had  not  occurred.  The  former 
had  given  much  occasion  for  offence,  but  as  yet  the  friends  of 
peace  indulged  the  hope  that  war  would  be  averted.  Proceeding 
through  Cologne  and  Dresden,  Lord  Carlisle  reached  Vieima, 
where,  he  tells  us  that  he  heard  ‘  a  sad  account  of  the  Austrian 
finances,  and  especially  of  the  capriciousness  with  wdiich  they  are 
levied.’  The  inhabitants  of  Vienna  w'ere  reported  to  his  lordship 
to  be  very  licentious ;  the  old  class  of  priests  to  be  distinguished 
both  by  immorality  and  ignorance ;  and  the  distinction  of  classes 
to  be  ‘  more  rigidly  observed  than  in  any  other  country.’  In  the 
])resent  state  of  our  relations  with  the  Austrian  empire,  it  is 
interesting  to  obtain  any  veritable  information  respecting  its 
rulers ;  and  our  readers  will,  therefore,  be  pleased  with  the 
following : — 

‘  It  w’as  rather  a  hold  feat  of  Sehwartzeiiburg  to  propose  to  one 
reigning  ein])eror,  and  to  his  next  heir  and  brother,  that  both  should 
resign  empire.  Tlie  Emperor  Ferdinand  was  almost  a  positive  idiot ; 
the  Arehduke  had  only  a  very  negative  understanding,  and  W’as 
delightcnl  to  escape  troulde :  there  w'ere  the  two  w  ives ;  they  \vere  the 
two  agents  employed ;  they  both  went  to  church  together,  prayed  for 
grace  and  strength  to  cllect  their  purpose,  and  then  j)ersuaded  their 
husbands,  1  believe,  without  any  ditUeulty.  The  present  young 
Emperor  showed  great  modesty  and  diffidence;  he  is  an  excellent  son, 
aud  very  much  attiu*hed  to  his  mother,  the  Archduchess  Sophia.  What 
1  collect  about  his  character  is  this :  1  believe  he  is  spotless  in  morals, 
very  conscientious  in  the  jierformance  of  duty,  determined  to  do  all 
himself,  very  simple,  and  without  any  turn  for  display;  this  is  all  on 
the  promising  side : — on  the  other,  he  as  yet  seems  almost  exclusively 
devoted  to  his  army ;  it  is  natural  indeed  for  him  to  feel  that  he  and 
the  momarchy  owe  everything  to  them.  Those  who  surround  him  are 
thought  to  be  narrow  and  harsh,  and  there  have  been  some  symptoms 
of  hardness  in  his  own  character.  On  the  whole,  hitherto  the  good 
appears  to  me  to  predominate.* — p.  18. 


LORD  Carlisle’s  Turkish  and  creek,  waters. 

From  \ieniia,  Lord  Carlisle  proceeded  by  one  of  the  Danube 
Steam  Company's  boats  to  Const antino])le,  and  in  the  course  of 
his  voyage  he  had  opportunities  of  observing  the  Danubian 
Principalities.  ‘  The  more  I  see  of  these  countries/  he  says,  ‘  I 
teel  more  strongly  that  any  change  which  should  disturb  the 
stagnant  mass  would  seem  to  give  a  chance  of  eliciting  some¬ 
thing  better  than  the  present  state  of  fetid,  mouldy  putrefaction.' 
The  hopes  of  progress,  however,  are  not  suj)posed  to  lie  in  the 
direction  of  Russia,  towards  which  a  general  distaste  is  siiid  to 
exist.  Our  countrymen  have  recently  heard  much  of  the  policy 
of  Russia  in  intercepiing  the  passage  of  the  Danube.  It  is  one 
of  the  charges  most  frequently  prefened  against  the  Czar,  that 
he  has  failed  to  perform  the  conditions  of  the  treaty  of  Adrianople, 
by  keeping  the  mouth  of  that  liver  in  ‘navigable  order.'  Tlui 
policy  of  Russia  in  this  is  sufficiently  obvious.  The  fact  itself  is 
the  only  point  in  dispute,  and  about  this  there  can  bo  little 
doubt.  The  testimony  of  our  author  is  clear  and  brief.  He 
says : — 

‘  We  })iissed  the  mouth  of  the  Pruth,  the  houiidary  (for  the  present) 
of  Russian  rule ;  then,  the  spot  at  which  the  Russians  crossed  the 
Danube  during  the  last  war;  then,  a  distant  view  of  Ismail.  I'he 
moment  of  (juitting  the  Danube  hy  the  Sulina,  or  central  mouth  of 
the  river,  was  very  interesting.  This  channel  was  secured  to  Russia 
hy  the  Treaty  of  Adrianople,  on  the  condition  that  it  should  he  open 
to  the  commerce  of  all  nations,  and  that  the  Russians  should  keep  it  in 
navigable  order.  They  have  hnnight  a  <lredging-maehine  there,  hut  it 
has  .scarcely  ever  been  detected  at  work  ;  and  the  result  might  he 
inferred  from  the  spectacle  w  Inch  at  j)rt‘sent  met  our  eyes,  of  hundreds 
of  vessels  in  the  river  within  the  mouth,  and  scores  of  them  in  the  sea 
without,  unable  to  |>ass  the  Rar.  Our  ship  only  drew  seven  feet  and  a 
half  of  w  ater,  and  had  purposely  brought  no  merehandi.se.  We  winde<l 
triumjdiantly  through  a  long  double  tier  of  ve.ssels,  but  even  we  grazed 
the  ground  sensibly  on  pa.ssing  tin*  Rar:  “Ron  tutta  la  forza,”  cried 
the  ca})tain  to  the  man  at  the  engine,  and  we  were  .safe  on  the  still 
surface  of  the  Kuxine.’ — p.  dl. 

Arriving  at  Constantinojde,  l^ord  Carlisle  speedily  sought  out 
the  British  minister,  I^ord  Stratford,  whose  position  ami  intluence 
are  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  diplomacy.  ‘  As  far,'  he  says, 
^  as  I  can  gather  from  others,  the  rulers  of  the  country  a])pear  to 
])ay  him  a  nearly  implicit  deference,  and  it  lias  rarely  haj)p(‘ned 
to  any  one  to  be  so  much,  to  all  human  appearance,  the  arbiter 
of  peace  and  war,  and  of  iinich  of  the  ajiproaching  (lestiny  of 
the  human  race.'  The  population  ot  Constantinople,  including 
the  villages  on  the  Bosphorus,  is  about  750,000,  and  is  divided 
by  Lord  Carlisle  into  240,000  Turks,  ^100,000  Greeks,  200,000 
Armeni.ans,  find  10,000  Jews  and  Franks.  Lord  Carlisle  had 
brought  with  him  letters  of  introduction  to  Dr.  Sandwith,  a 


\ '  • ,  i  •  r  .  f 


726  LORD  Carlisle’s  Turkish  and  greek  waters. 


Yorkshireman,  and  resident  physician  in  the  Turkish  capital  • 
and  we  must  furnish  our  readers  with  the  account  which  he  gives 
of  his  interview  with  this  worthy  countryman. 


‘  I  had  brought  letters  to  T)r.  Sandwith,  who  is  a  ])hysician  here,  for 
the  present  a  corresj)ondent  to  the  ‘  Times,’  above  all,  a  Yorkshirompii 
lie  very  sensibly  told  me,  that  if  even  1  did  dine  at  any  great  repast 
given  by  some  Turkish  Pasha  or  minister,  I  should  probably  onlv  liiul 
a  reproduction  of  Euro|)ean  customs,  knives  and  forks,  &c. ;  so  he  un¬ 
dertook  to  show  me  a  genuine  Turkish  house  and  dinner.  We  went  to¬ 
day;  our  host  was  the  chief  physieian  of  the  Sultan.  We  arrived  at 
his  house  in  Seutari  about  half  an  hour  before  sunset ;  and  as  we  could 
not  dine  during  the  Itainazan  till  after  it,  neither  food  nor  pipes  being 
allowed  between  the  rising  and  setting  sun,  we  sat  in  the  garden 
with  our  host,  who,  not  in  good  kee})ing  with  his  art,  plied  us  with 
unri})e  fruits.  A  young  Circassian  girl,  of  about  twelve,  and  so  not  of 
an  age  to  prevent  her  a’ppearing  before  Franks,  was  sent  Irom  tlie 
Seraglio,  that  the  state  of  her  health  might  be  examined.  At  last  the 
cannon  bred; — 


“  Hark  !  peal’d  the  thunder  of  the  evening  gun  ; 

It  told  ’twas  sunset,  an<l  icc  hlcss\l  that  sun.” — Corsair. 


There  was  quite  a  rush  to  the  meal.  The  party  amounted  to  nine : 
there  was  a  ])riest  or  Imaun  in  a  violet  robe ;  but  the  person  who  was 
the  best  dressed,  and  seemed  to  be  made  most  of,  was  a  perleetly  black 
gentleman  from  the  Seraglio.  Our  host  talked  some  French ;  the  rest 
nothing  but  Turkish,  in  which  Dr.  Sandwith  is  very  tluent.  All  sat 
down  on  low  cushions  upon  their  legs :  this  1  could  not  quite  etleet, 
but  managed  to  stow  mifie  under  the  small  low  round  table.  U])on 
this  was  placenl  a  brass  or  copper  salver,  and  iq)on  this  again  the  dishes 
of  food  in  very  quick  and  most  copious  succession  :  we  all  hel})ed  our¬ 
selves  with  our  right  hands,  exee})t  that  just  for  the  soup  we  had 
wooden  spoons :  this  is  not  quite  so  otiensive  as  it  sounds,  since  they 
hardly  take  more  than  one  or  two  mouthfuls  in  each  dish  IVom  the 
paid:  immediately  opposite  them,  so  the  hands  do  not  mingle  in  the 
])latter:  it  si'cms  to  me,  however,  that  the  first  advance  in  Turkish 
civilisation  to  which  we  may  look  forward  will  be  the  use  of  s})oons, 
and  then,  through  succeeding  epochs,  to  knives  and  forks, — 

The  diapason  ending  full  in  plates. 

1  mu.st  say  that  1  thought  the  fare  itself  very  good,  consisting  in  large 
proportion  of  vegetables,  pastry,  and  condiments,  but  exhibiting  a 
degree  of  resource  and  varietv  not  unwort hv  of  studv  bv  the  unadven- 
turous  cookery  of  Pritain.  We  drank  sherbets  and  water.  Some  ot 
the  company  had  become  so  ravenous  for  their  ])ipes  after  the  Ion 
abstinence  of  the  day,  that  they  could  not  sit  out  the  meal. 
transfcrr('d  ourselves  to  another  room,  wh<*re  we  all  tucked  up  our  legs 
on  the  divan,  which,  however,  soon  gave  me  the  cramp ;  but  I  was 
Kindly  encouraged  to  stretch  out  my  feet.  This  portion  of  the  evening 
was  very  long,  as  coffee  and  pipes  were  incessantly  brought  in :  occa- 


LOUD  CAULISLK’s  TUUKISII  AND  GREEK  WATERS. 


727 


i 


slouiil  relict  was  etleetod  by  tbe  black  ii^ntlcmaii  comb'sccndiii"  to  sin", 
witli  rather  a  cracked  voice,  to  a  tambourine.* — pp. 

Constantinople  won  grcatlv'  on  his  lordship  a.s  lie  became 
better  acquainted  with  it.  ‘  It  grows  enormously  upon  me,*  he 
tells  us,  and  he  describes  with  inucli  zest  the  various  objects  of 
liistorical  and  religious  interest  which  it  contains.  Speaking 
ot  St.  Sophia,  he  says,  ‘This  is  the  real  site  of  Constantinople — 
the  point  round  which  so  much  of  history,  so  much  of  regred,  so 
much  of  anticipation,  ever  centre.  Within  that  jirt'cinct 
Constantine,  Theodosius,  Justinian,  worshijiped,  and  Chrysostom 
preached,  and,  most  atlecting  reminiscence  of  all,  the  last  Constan¬ 
tine  received  tlie  Christian  sacrament  upon  the  night  that  preceded 
his  own  heroic  death,  the  capture  of  the  inqu'rial  city,  and  tlic 
Coiicpiest  of  the  Crescent  over  the  CVoss.’  The  history  of  this 
magnificent  edifice  is  re^dete  with  tlie  deojX‘st  elements  of  trag«‘dy. 
It  is  impossible  to  look  on  its  present  occupation  without  a 
mournful  recollection  of  the  change  which  has  transpired,  or  of 
anticipating  its  destiny  witliout  something  like  «a  firm  persuasion 
that  it  will  be  freed  from  its  present  aboinination.s,  and  witne.ss 
the  ottering  up  of  a  purer  incense  tlian  b.as  ovtT  yet  .'vseemb'd 
from  its  altar.  *rhe  chant  to  the  Virgin  and  the  call  of  the 
^iuezziu  will  yet  be  succeeded,  we  trust,  by  the  voice  of  joyful  and 
believing  praise  addressed  unto  the  Majesty  of  Heavmi  and 
Earth. 


On  one  occasion  Lord  Carlisle  witnessed  the  procesvsion  of  the 
Sultan  to  the  moscpie  of  Sultan  Achmeil.  The  Sultan,  he  tells  us, 
‘  looks  pale,  old  for  his  age  (about  thirty-one,  I  believe),  and  he 
has  lately  grown  corpident :  the  impression  his  asjxct  conveys  is 
of  a  man  gentle,  unassuming,  feeble,  unstrung,  doomed ;  no 
energy  of  purpo.se  gleamed  in  that  pjissive  glance ;  no  augury  of 
victory  sjit  on  that  still  brow.’  This  description  acconls  with 
the  account  of  other  witnesses;  yt‘t  there  must  be  elements  of  a 
firmer  and  more  hen)ic  order  in  Abdul  Medjid.  His  policy 
towards  the  Hunganan  exiles,  and  the  course  more  recently  }mr- 
sued  towards  Russia,  b(*token  the  ]>ossession  of  other  qualities 
than  w'cre  visible  to  Lord  (*arlisle.  There  are  gleams  appanmtly 
of  bright  and  generous  feeling  which  break  over  the  ordinary 
calmness  of  the  Sultan  s  mood.  It  may  be  that  much  of  this  is 
attributable  to  his  councillors;  but  it  will  lx*  doing  injustice  to  the 
monarch  to  deprive  him  of  all  jiersonal  credit  on  this  account 
Even  on  the  lowest  sup|X)sitiou,  he  has  the  merit — no  inconsider¬ 
able  one — of  surrounding  himself , w  ith  advisers  of  deep  sagacity 
and  comprehensive  views. 

The  populations  included  un<ler  the  Turkish  rule  are  various, 
and  amongst  these,  as  is  not  unnatural,  very  different  feelings 
prevail  Lord  Carlisle  had  an  opportunity,  at  the  break  fast-table 


728  LORD  CARLISLE'S  TURKISH  AND  GREEK  WATERS. 


of  Dr.  SaiKiwitli,  of  learning  something  on  this  point,  which  wo 
transfer  to  our  pages  for  the  information  of  our  readers : — 


‘  Tlio  chief  ohject,’  ho  says,  ‘  was  to  meet  a  Wallaeliian  of  great 
intelligence  and  distinguished  hirtli :  he  was  of  too  liberal  tendencies 
to  ])lease  the  Russians,  so  they  induced  the  Turks  to  forbid  biiii  to 
nmiain  at  home,  ddiere  was  also  our  vice-consul,  Mr.  Skene,  son  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott’s  friend,  evidently  a  very  intelligent  and  well-informed 
man.  ’riie  conversation  gave  me  much  instruction  respecting  the 
characters  and  feelings  of  the  dillerent  po})ulations.  The  Wallaeliian 
was  excessively  anti-Russian  and  anti-Greek  ;  the  Greeks  he  considers 
far  worse  and  more  hateful  to  the  other  races  than  the  Turks  them¬ 
selves.  Ife  conceives  that  the  Emperor  of  Russia’s  feelings,  and  those 
of  the  now  dominant  ])arty  in  Russia,  which  override  at  this  moment 
even  his,  ])oint  mainly  to  a  Ranslavonic  fusion.  He  himself  would 
naturally  like  a  large  Roman  or  Latin  fusion,  comprising  Wallachia, 
Moldavia,  Bessarabia,  and  ])ossibly  more.  In  the  meanwliile  he  does 
not  give  a  tlattering  ])ortrait  of  society  in  those  })arts.  The  Bohe¬ 
mians  or  gijisies  are  actually  slaves,  but  their  condition  is,  on  the 
wlude,  ])referable  to  that  of  the  predial  inhabitants,  who  cannot  be 
parted  from  the  soil,  and  from  whom  only  a  certain  number  of  days’ 
labour  is  legally  due;  but  this  is  grossly  infringed  uj)on.  On  the 
whole,  the  more  1  learn,  the  more  dilHcult  1  iind  it  not  merely  to 
foresee,  but  to  shape  even  in  wish,  the  future.’ — p.  GO. 


We  h  ave  heard  much  of  the  oppressions  piractised  by  the 
Turkish  government  on  its  Christian  subjects.  It  is  needful, 
however,  to  discriminate  in  this  matter.  Unlike  some  Christian 
states,  the  government  is  greatly  in  advance  of  the  peo})le. 
The  intiuence  of  Lord  Stratford  at  Constantinople  has  been 
eminently  conducive  to  a  tolerant  and  liberal  policy.  The 
national  feeling,  however,  is  undoubtedly  opposed  to  this.  ^luch 
of  the  old  spirit  of  Mohammedanism  lingers  amongst  the  peojde, 
and  cases  are  therefore  frecpiently  occurring  of  popular  fanaticism 
and  bigotrv  breaking  through  the  restraints  which  enlightened 
legishition  has  inter]>osed.  Such  cases  are  deeply  to  be  deplored. 
They  cannot  be  condemned  too  severely ;  yet  we  must  be  careful 
to  assign  them  to  their  true  causes.  We  need  not  look  far  from 
home  in  order  to  discover  parallel  instances,  with  this  signiticant 
ditterence,  however; — in  the  case  of  Turkey  the  government  dis¬ 
countenances  wdiat  the  people  do,  but  in  the  case  of  several  so- 
called  Christian  states,  rulers  are  the  persecutors,  and  their  priestly 
advisers  the  great  incendiaries.  ‘  I  am  bound  to  sav/  Lord 
Carlisle  tells  us,  ‘  that  with  the  exception  of  occasional  outrages 
and  collisions,  w  hen  the  passions  have  been  aroused,  and  of  some 
instances  of  extortion,  where  men  in  «authority  are  remote  from 
observation  and  from  check,  the  condition  of  the  Christian  sub¬ 
jects  of  the  Porte  is  one  of  great  practical  freedom  and  ease.' 

Lord  Carlisle  expresses  his  admiration  of  ‘  the  high  and  even 


LORO  CARLISLF/s  TURKISH  AND  (JRKKK  WATKRS. 


7'29 

heroic  spirit*  with  which  the  Turkish  rulers  and  people  have 
thrown  themselves  into  the  present  struggle  with  Russiji.  Yet 
he  is  not  blind  to  their  many  faults,  nor  does  he  hesitate  to  record 
their  inertness,  want  ot  torethought,  ami  general  debility  of  ]nir- 
])ose.  Jle  frecpiently  contrasts  their  state  with  that  of  the 
Greeks,  and  the  terms  of  the  comparison  are  far  from  flattering. 
In  the  following  passage  his  general  estimate  of  the  people  is 
recorded 

*  Among  the  lower  orders  of  the  people,  there  is  eonsiderahh'  sim- 
])licity  luul  loyalty  ot  eharaeter,  and  a  fair  disposition  to  he  obliging 
and  friendly.  Among  those  who  emerge  from  the  mass,  and  have  the 
opportunities  of  helping  themselves  to  the  good  things  of  the  world, 
the  exee))tions  from  thorough-] )aeed  eorrupti»>n  and  »*xtortion  are  most 
rare  ;  and  in  the  whole  eondiiet  of  ])uhlie  husini*ss  and  routine  of  otliidal 
life,  under  mueh  apparent  eourtesy  and  undeviating  good-breeding,  a 

s] )irit  ot  siTvility,  detraetion,  and  vindictiveness  appears  constant ly  at 
work.  'I'he  hulk  of  the  |>eople  is  incredibly  uninformed  and  ignorant : 

I  am  told  that  now  they  fully  believe  that  the  French  an<l  Knglish 
fleets  have  come  in  the  j)ay  of  the  Sultan  :  and  when  the  Austrian 
special  mission  of  the  (^ount  Leiningen  arrived  in  the  early  part  of  this 
year,  and  led,  by  the  way,  to  mueh  of  what  has  since*  occurred,  tlu*y 
were  ])ersuaded  that  its  object  was  to  obtain  the  ])ermission  of  the 
Sultan  for  the  young  em])eror  to  wear  his  crown.  Fpon  the  state  of 
morals  1  debar  myself  from  entering.  Ferha})s  tin*  most  fatal,  if  not 
the  m(»st  faulty  bar  to  national  progress,  is  the  ineurahh*  indoh‘neo 
which  pervades  every  class  alike,  from  the  Pasha,  j)uHing  his  |>erfume<l 
narghile  in  his  latticed  kiosk  on  the  Ifosphorus,  to  the  man  in  the 
ragged  turban  who  sits  cross-legged  with  his  unadorned  tchihoinpie  in 
front  of  a  mouldy  colfee-shoj)  in  the  meanest  village.  In  fact,  the  con¬ 
versation  of  every  man  whom  I  meet,  who  is  well-infornn'd  on  the 
state  of  the  ])opulation,  with  very  few  exceptions,  might  lu^  taken 
down  as  an  illustration,  often  very  unconsciously  on  their  juirt,  of  the 
sense*  usually  assigned  to  the  prediction  in  the  A])o(*a  l.V)  »s(‘,  of  the  waters 
of  the  Kujdirates  being  dried  uj).  On  the  continent,  in  the  islands,  it 
is  the  (Ireek  ])easant  who  works,  and  rises;  tlui  'furk  reclines,  smoke*.s 
his  ])i])e,  and  decays.  The  (Ireck  village  increases  its  ]>o])uhition,  ami 
teems  with  children  ;  in  the  Turkish  village  you  find  roofless  walls 
ami  criimhling  mosques.  Statesmen  who  do  not  s(*e  these  matti*rs  with 
their  own  (*yes,  if  told  of  the  rotten  state  of  the  ()tt<jman  Kmpin*,  are 

aj) t  to  say,  they  do  not  at  all  ])crceive  that: — this  IVu.ssiau  (leneral 
ins])ected  their  army  the  other  day,  and  was  highly  pleased  with  its 
eliiciency;  this  English  Captain  went  on  hoard  th(*ir  fleet,  and  saw 
them  work  their  guns,  and  said  that  it  covdd  not  be  lM*tter  done  in  any 
English  ship.  Tlieir  military  hos])itals  are  ]u*rfect  models  of  arrangc*- 
inent  ami  good  order.  1  believe  all  this  to  Ik*  true,  and  I  can  well 
conceive  that  in  one  or  two  campaigns,  on  a  first  great  outburst,  the 
Turks  might  be  victorious  over  their  Russian  op]M)ncnts ;  but,  wii.*n 
you  leave  the  partial  sjdcndours  of  the  eajiital  and  the  great  state 
cstal)lishments,  what  is  it  you  find  over  the  broad  s\irface  of  a  land 


J 


730  LORD  Carlisle’s  Turkish  and  greek  waters. 


which  nature  and  climate  have  favoured  beyond  all  others,  once  the 
home  of  all  art  and  all  civilisatiou  ?  Look  yourself — ask  those  who 
live  there — deserted  villages,  uncultivated  plains,  banditti-haunted 
mountains,  torpid  laws,  a  corrupt  administration,  a  disappearing  people  ’ 

— pp.  182-181. 

‘  Shiftlessiiess  and  increasing  poverty’  are  everywhere  attri¬ 
buted  to  the  Turks  in  ojiposition  to  ‘  the  industry  and  energy  of 
the  (1  reeks.’  No  Turkish  girls  are  put  out  to  service,  whilst  the 
youths  are  liable  to  be  drafted  off  to  the  army.  The  (itft'ct  of 
this  state  of  things  may  easily  be  anticipated,  nor  are  we  surprised 
at  the  dissatisfaction  it  creates.  The  rayahs  or  Christian  subjects 
of  the  Porte  are  not  liable  to  serve  in  the  army  and  the  navy; 
and  it  is  a  problem  of  no  little  intricacy,  on  which  the  future 
destinies  of  the  Ottoman  empire  are  dependent,  whether  they  may 
be  trusted  to  do  so.  The  course  of  events  clearly  points  to  the 
abrogation  of  the  prohibitory  law  at  present  existing,  but  what 
will  I  )e  the  effect  of  such  a  measure  it  requires  great  sagacity 
and  much  acquaintance  wdth  the  Eastern  character  to  ascertain. 

From  Constantinople  Lord  Carlisle  proceeded  to  Greece,  whose 
w'aters,  mountains,  headlands,  landscapes,  cities,  and  peojde,  sug¬ 
gested  a  thousand  associations  of  rich  and  varied  beautv.  1 1  is 
lordship  perfectly  revelled  in  the  recollections  aw  akened  by  the 
objects  around  him,  and  there  is  a  freshness  and  healthy  tone  in 
his  remarks,  free  alike  from  the  pedantry  of  the  sciolist  and  the 
stilted  phraseology  of  the  mere  traveller. 

lie  wjis  evidently  at  home  in  what  he  saw.  Though  it  does 
not  ap]>ear  that  he  had  ever  visited  Greece  before,  his  mind 
WMS  richly  stored  with  its  imagery.  Its  poets,  historians,  and 
philosophers,  its  statesmen  and  heroes,  had  evidently  been  his 
chosen  and  beloved  companions.  From  the  stores  of  a  wxll-fur- 
nished  mind  he  draw's  forth  elucidations  of  the  objects  before 
him,  and  his  genuine,  earnest  enthusiasm,  ahvays  ardent,  yet 
never  obtrusive,  engages  and  carries  away  the  sympathies  of  his 
readers.  Arriving  at  the  Pirmus  in  November  of  last  year,  he 
w’as;  much  struck  with  the  superiority  of  the  road  to  Athens,  oi 
which  he  had  not  seen  the  equal  since  leaving  England.  The 
poit  is  about  six  miles  distant  from  the  city,  whither  our  traveller 
immediately  repaired,  and  where  he  soon  found  his  old  Iriend 
Mr.  VV  yse,  the  British  ambassador,  at  wdiose  residence  he  pro¬ 
mised  to  take  up  his  abode.  A  brief  and  rapid  sketch  is  given 
of  the  lions  of  Athens,  and  we  regret  to  learn  from  his  lordship’s 
narrative  that  many  of  the  architectural  remains  of  the  city  arc 
in  a  neglected  and  ruinous  condition.  Speaking  of  the  Temple 
of  the  Winds,  the  Portico  of  Hadrian,  and  other  remains,  he  says, 
‘  Nothing  can  exceed  the  neglected  and  squalid  condition  of 
these  interesting  buildings.  The  Temple  of  the  ^\  inds  w  as 

1 


h 


LORD  CARLISLE’S  TURKISH  AND  GREEK  WATERS.  731 


undergoing  a  systematic  ])elting  from  the  ingenuous  boyhood  of 
Athens.  It  can  hardly  liave  been  worse  in  Turkisli  time.s,  and  it 
certainly  continues  to  attord  the  l)est  justification  to  Ijord  Elgin/ 

His  lordship  visited  the  school  of  Mr.  Hill,  an  American  by  birth, 
and  chaplain  to  the  English  embassy.  This  gentleman,  assisted 
by  M  rs.  Hill,  superintends  a  school  containing  about  300  girls,  of 
whom  ‘almost  all  seemed  intelligent  and  liv'olv’,  and  thiur  eager¬ 
ness  for  instruction  is  described  as  most  remarkable.’  Iloyswere 
formerly  received  into  the  school,  hut  on  the  government  ojK'ning 
schools  for  them,  ^Ir.  and  Mrs.  Hill  thought  thev  should  do  best 
by  confining  their  labors  to  the  other  sex.  The  Hills  came 
to  Athens  in  1<S30,  when  the  pf)pulation  did  not  exceed  1000.  It 
is  now,  however,  about  iS,000 ;  and  Lord  Carlisle  tells  us,  as  the 
result  of  Ins  observation,  that  ‘  there  seems  to  be  mucli  in  the 
body  of  the  people  themselves  to  encourage  hope  for  the  future, 
if  they  could  have  fair  play  and  go<id  government/  We  are  glacl 
to  learn  that  ]\Ir.  Hill  informed  his  lordship  that  some;  of  the 
Greek  bishops  were  ‘both  excellent  and  higldv  learned  men.’ 
On  one  occasion  the  proceedings  of  this  estimable  man  were  inter- 
ru])ted  by  tlui  ultra-Russian  party,  who  raised  a  charge  against 
him  of  attempting  to  proselyte.  A  commission  of  (Jreek  bishops 
was  appointed  to  investigate  the  charge,  and  the  accused  was 
ac(piitted.  How  far  this  was  to  his  Inmor  we  know  not,  as  we 
are  ignorant  of  the  facts  of  the  Ciise.  Every  honest  and  earnest 
man  must  be  concerned  that  others  should  embrace  the  opinions 
which  he  deems  true  and  important,  and  out  of  this  results  the 
genuine  proselyting  spirit. 

The  Acropolis  naturally  engaged  Lord  Carlisle’s  attention.  Tt 
was  impos-sible  that  a  visitor  with  such  cultivated  tastes  should 
refrain  from  gazing  on  its  marv’els.  It  has  been  fn*(|uently  de¬ 
scribed,  but  the  following  brief  sketch  is  so  unaffected  ami  simjjle, 
that  few  readers  will  fail  to  derive  ph'asure  from  its  perusal. 


‘  (\)iK*(Tniug  flic  general  etleet  of  the  whoh*,  with  which  I  alone  pro¬ 
tend  to  deal,  evervtlnng  is  most  ini]>osing,  everything  most  lM*:iutitul. 
Tlu*  ap])roach  through  tlie  live-fold  d(*pth  of  the  eolumns  of  the  Lro- 
pyla'ii  is  august  in  the  highest  degree ;  the  triple  divisioiiK  of  the 
Lh-eetheum  are  full  of  the  most  delicati^  grace ;  the  temple  of  the  uii- 


winged  Victory  is  exquisitely  small ;  hut  of  etmrst*  all  emotion  and 
glorv  are  concentrated  in  the  Parthenon.  This  is  the  huilding  iii 
which  no  human  being  has  yet  been  able  to  discover  a  fault,  hut  in 
which,  on  the  contrary,  every  new  year  is  dLscovering  unsuspected 
wonders  of  skill  and  harmonies  of  combination.  Into  tliese,  as  f  need 


not  again  intimate,  I  dare  not  enter :  how  the  spans  of  the  shaft  and 
how  the  spaces  of  the  intercohimniation  differ  in  onler  to  produce  the 
efft'ct  of  airreemcnt ;  how  the  pnslominanee  of  convex  lines  nniki's  the 
whole  building  look  larger  than  it  really  is,  IVom  distant  points  of  view, 
while  the  non-obsiTvance  oi  the  same  laws  at  the  Havanan  \  alhalla, 


732 


LORD  Carlisle’s  Turkish  and  creek  waters. 


make  it,  and  all  other  copies  of  the  original,  look  smaller  than  they 
ri'ally  are ;  but  here  you  have  the  tem])le  of  Pericles  and  his  Phidias, 
shattered,  defaced,  stripj)ed, — by  Cloth,  by  Venetian,  by  Turk,  byeartli- 
(|uake,  by  time,  by  Lord  Llgin, — still  serene  in  its  indestructible 
beauty;  still  giving  the  model  and  the  law  to  every  clime  and  every 
ag(i.  Then  from  the  front  of  this  faultless  ediliee  comes  in  liord 
Pyron’s  sunset  view,  which,  as  I  am  sure  I  could  not  improve  upon,  i 
leave  alone  ;  1  think  it,  perhaps,  the  most  glorious  passage  of  his  luanv- 
chorded  lyre.  I  had  not  yet  the  advantage  of  seeing  the  spot  under 
its  aj)j)ropriate  and  customary  sky  and  sunshine;  it  was  a  brown  mild 
day  of  English  autumn.’ — pj).  195,  PdG. 


From  Athens  a  visit  Wtos  ])aid  to  ^Marathon,  one  of  those  few 
spots  on  which  the  history  of  ages  has  turned.  It  is  difHcnlt  to 
realize  the  state  of  the  world  at  the  period  of  the  Persian  invasion. 
A  vast  spell  rested  on  the  nations,  and  it  reciuired  superhuman 
courage  to  arouse  the  small  states  of  Greece  to  the  etfort  that  was 
needful  for  the  maintenance  of  their  national  independence. 
That  eftort,  however,  was  made,  and  wc  know  the  result.  The 
history  of  this  great  invasion  Inis  been  obscured  by  many  fables, 
but  after  all  which  a  rigid  scrutiny  has  rejected,  there  remains 
enough  to  aw^akeu  astonishment  and  admiration  : 


‘  The  ground,’  says  Lord  Carlisle,  ‘  completely  explains  and  illus¬ 
trates  the  battle.  It  is  now’  thought  that  there  was  not  the  ama’/ing 
dispanty  of  force  w’hieh  some  accounts  have  claimed ;  jwobably  al)out 
22, (MH)  (Ireeks  to  KhOOG  Persians.  The  main  cause  w’hich  has  made 
the  victory  such  a  turning  iK)int  in  the  history  of  the  world,  was  the 
previous  awe  attached  to  the  Persian  power  and  [irowess.  It  was,  on 
a  larger  scale,  what  ^laida  was  in  the  last  French  war.  Before  Ma¬ 
rathon,  the  Persians  had  coiupiered  the  Greeks  in  Ionia:  if  it  had  not 
heen  ibr  Marathon,  there  would  have  been  ])robably  no  Therino])yliL*, 
Salamis,  or  Plata‘a.  Persia  was,  in  I’act,  the  Kussia  of  that  day,  loom¬ 
ing  so  formidably  in  the  distance,  and  found  so  brittle  in  the  iu.*tual 
shock.’ — ]).  201. 


The  closing  sentence  of  this  extract  was  penned  on  the  28th 
NovembiT,  1853,  when  the  Russians  bad  sustained  repeated 
defeats  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube.  This  was  so  different  Irom 
what  w  e  had  been  led  to  anticipate,  that  public  feeling  passed 
from  one  extreme  to  another.  After  having  exaggerated  the 
resources  of  the  Czar,  it  unduly  depreciated  them,  and  began 
to  think  that  the  apprehensions  of  Western  Europe  were 
unfounded,  and  its  efforts  too  vast  and  costly.  What  has  occurred 
in  the  Crimea  has  served  somewhat  to  raise  our  estimate  ot  Rus¬ 
sian  power.  Unable  to  cope  w’ith  the  allied  soldiery,  the  Czar  has 
evinced  a  magnitude  of  resources  and  a  strength  ot  resistance 
which  will  evidently  tax  the  allied  powers  to  a  tar  greater  extent 
than  was  anticipated.  In  this,  however,  there  is  nothing  different 


LOUD  CAULISLE’s  TUUKISII  AND  GREEK  WATERS. 


from  what  sagacious  militarv  observers  liad  led  us  to  expect.  Oii 
tliis  point  the  testimony  ol  Major-tJeneral  Mackintosh,  noticed  in 
a  recent  number  of  our  journal,  is  very  decided. 

There  is  slight  ditierence  o] 
respecting  the  government  of  O 
it  with  other  feelings  than  those  of  contempt.  The  Bavarian 
puppet  who  occupies  the  throne  is  as  imbecile  as  he  is  despotic, 
and  the  revelations  recently  atforded  of  a  ilussian  policy  have 
ilestroyed  the  last  remnants  of  respectful  consideration.  Lord 
Carlisle’s  testimony,  on  the  present  government  of  Greece,  is  both 
decisive  and  condemnatory.  Those  ot  mir  readers  who  have  not 
the  opportunity  ot  lorming  a  judgment  for  themselves,  will  be 
gratilied  to  receive  his  lordship’s  report : — 


f  opinion  in  Western  Europe 
reece.  Few'  Enjxlishmen  roLnird 


‘  1  have  hardy  adverted,’  he  says,  ‘to  the  |K)lities  of  modern  (ireeec*: 
during  one  fortnight,  at  least,  anei«‘nt  llelhus  n‘|>elsall  oilier  intrusion, 
and,  truth  to  say,  tliere  is  hut  litth*  attraction  in  the  modern  eom- 
]u‘titor  for  notice.  I  should  also  shrink  iVom  any  direct  ri‘fen*nei's  to 
those  with  w’liom  I  have  conversed  i  1  mav,  however,  most  truthfullv 
sum  up,  from  all  that  1  have  seen,  or  read,  or  lu‘anl  among  piasons  of 
ililferent  nations,  stations,  ainl  ]>rineipl(‘s,  that  the  juvsent  govt'rnment 
of  (i reece  seems  to  be  about  the  most  ineilieiiMit,  eorrupt,  ami,  above 
all,  eontemptihK‘,  with  whieh  a  nation  was  (wer  cursed.  'Pho  con¬ 
stitution  is  so  worked  as  to  he  constantly  and  llagrantly  evade<l  or 
violated  ;  the  liberty  of  election  is  shamefully  infringi'd  ;  and  where  no 
overt  bribery  or  intimidation  are  employi'd, — charges  iVom  whieh  wo 
Fnglishmen  can,  I  fear,  by  no  means  make  out  an  exemption, — the 
absence  of  the  voters,  who  regard  the  whole  process  as  a  mockery,  is 
compensateil  by  the  electoral  boxes  being  fdled  with  voting-pap(*rs  by 
the  gemlarmerie,— a  height  ol‘  imjmdenee  to  whieh  we  have  not  yet 
soared.  IkTsons  the  most  disertMlited  hy  tlu*ir  characters  and  ante¬ 
cedents  are  forced  on  the  reluctant  constituencies,  and  even  occa¬ 


sionally  advanced  to  places  of  high  trust  and  dignity.  'Phe  absence  of 
Legislative  eln*eks  is  not  atom‘(l  for  by  the  vig«uir  of  the  executive  in 
promoting  public  imjirovcments.  Agriculture  stagnates  ;  manufiU’tures 
do  not  exist  ;  tlu‘  eommunicalitms,  exeejit  in  the  immediate  neigh¬ 
bourhood  of  the  eajiital,  where  they  arc  good,  are  deplorable;  the 
lirovinces— and  here  1  can  hardly  except  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
eaj)ital — teem  w  ith  robbers.  'Phe  navy,  for  whieh  the  aptitude  of  the 
peot)le  is  remarkable,  consists  of  one  vessel :  the  jmhlie  debt  is  not  |>aid  : 
an  otfer  hy  a  company  of  respectable  individuals  to  institute  a  steam 
navi'^-ation,  for  which  the  si‘as  and  shores  of  (ireece  oiler  such  innu¬ 
merable  facilities,  was  declined  at  the  very  jicriod  of  my  visit,  h(a*au.se 
it  was  ap})rehended  that  it  would  he  unpalatable  to  Austria.  Bitter, 
indeed,  is  the  disappointment  of  those  w  ho  formed  bright  auguries  for 
the  future  career  of  regenerate  (ireceii,  and  imido  gfuicrous  sjuTifiees 
in  her  once  august  and  honored  cause.  Vet  the  feeling  so  natural  to 
them  so  dillicult  to  avoid  for  us  all,  should  still  stop  far  short  of 
despair.’ — pp.  207-209. 


731 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


Our  s|)ace  prevents  our  followinpf  Lord  Carlisle  in  liis  subse¬ 
quent  movements.  His  work  is  written  in  the  form  of  a  Diary, 
which  has  the  advantage  of  securing  ‘  the  freshness  of  first  im¬ 
pressions  for  whatever  may  be  n'cordeil/  and,  as  his  lordship 
observes,  ‘  of  producing  a  more  intimate  sense  of  companionship 
between  the  author  and  reader  than  can  otherwise  be  obtained.' 
We  have  read  the  volume  with  very  considerable  pleasure.  The 
farther  we  have  proceeded,  the  higher  has  been  our  estimate  of 
the  sound  judgment,  good  feeling,  and  cultivated  taste  of  the 
writer.  Were  all  our  nobility  like  Lord  Carlisle,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  prevent  the  Order  from  being  reg-.irded  with  a  measure 
of  respi  ct  and  confidence  scarcely  consistent  with  the  maintenance 
of  popular  freedom.  We  have  rarely  introduced  to  our  readers 
a  more  pleasing  aiul  sensible  volume  than  the  ‘  Diary  in  Turkish 
and  Greek  Waters.' 


Akt.  VIII. — The  Doctrine  of  the  Iloh/  Eucliaridl.  l>y  I'ohort  Isaac 
Wilherforce,  A.M.,  Archdeacon  of  tlie  East  -  Kiding.  Third 
Edition.  pj).  xxii. —  T22.  London:  Mozleys.  Oxford  and 

London:  .1.  11.  I'arker.  iSol. 

2.  An  Jnquiri/  into  the  Principles  of  Church-Autliorify ;  or,  Pcasons 

for  liecalling  my  Subscription  to  the  Itoyal  Supremacy.  15y  the 
Rev.  K.  1.  Wilberforce,  M.A.  Second  Edition.  j>p.  xx. — 2Sl. 
London:  Longman,  Ilrown,  Oreen,  A'  Longmans.  1851. 

3.  The  Bishop  of  Oxford's  Triennial  Tlsiiuiiun  (the  ‘Times,’  Nov.  11, 

185T). 


We  have  placed  the  titles  of  these  two  books,  and  a  reference  to 
the  report  of  an  episcopal  visitation,  at  the  head  of  this  article, 
not  so  much  to  discuss  the  arguments  contained  in  any  of  them, 
as  to  call  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  the  astounding  fact,  that 
these  are  the  views  entertained  in  such  high  ecclesiastical  places 
in  this  countrv,  and  that  bv  the  sons  of  one  whose  name  has  so 
long  been  honoured  among  us  as  the  champion  of  evangelical 
truth.  It  was  matter  of  natural  congratulation,  not  only  in 
the  Church  of  England,  but  among  not  a  few'  evangelical 
dissenters,  that  three  sons  of  that  accomplished  orator,  states¬ 
man,  philanthropist,  and  Christian  author,  devoted  themselves 
to  the  service  of  the  Church.  It  is  now  some  time  since  the 
eldest  son,  bearing  his  fathers  name,  withdrew’  from  public 
life,  his  wife  becoming  a  member  of  the  Roman  church.  His 
brother  Henry  proved  the  honesty  of  his  convictions  by  avowing 


THE  CL?:RICAL  WILBEllFORCE. 


735 


publicly  that  he  had  lxH?n  driven  to  choose  between  rationalism 
and  tlie  churcli  in  which  he  rec*ogniseil  tlie  four  grand  attri¬ 
butes  of  truth, — unity, — univ^ersality, — and  aj>ostoli(*ity,  under 
the  Kupreinacy  of  tlie  }>ope.  He  resigned  the  benefice  of  Far- 
leigh,  near  Maidstone,  worth  <^^1(HK)  a  year,  and  has  become 
cons])icuous  by  his  active  and  devoted  laliours  on  behalf  of  the 
new  Roman  university  in  Ireland.  Robert  Isaac  Wilberforce 
was  distinguished  at  Oriel  College,  Oxforxl,  by  taking  a  double 
lirst  class,  where  lie  gniduated  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  and 
he  was  afterwards  associated  with  Dr.  Newman  as  a  college 
tutor,  b  or  many  years  he  was  one  ot  the  select  preachers  of  the 
university ;  and  more  than  tive-and-twonty  years  ago  he  was  a 
public  examiner.  He  has  long  been  the  vicar  of  l^urton  Agnes, 
and  «archdeacon  of  the  Fast-Riding,  Wirkshire.  He  is  the  author 
of  numerous  publications — ‘The  Five  Fmpires* — ‘Tlie  History 
of  Frastianism' — ‘The  Doctrine  of  the  Incarnation' — ‘The  Doc¬ 


trine  of  Holy  Baptism' — ‘Sermons  on  the  New  Birth  of  Man's 
Nature’ — ‘fliurch  Courts  and  Church  Discipline' — and  three 
charges  to  the  clergy  of  the  Fast-Riding  on  the  ‘  Practical  Fifect 
of  the  Gorham  Ciuse' — the  ‘  Evangelical  and  Tractarian  Move¬ 
ments’ — and  the  ‘Appeal  to  Convocation’ — the  last  in  1S.)±  After 
the  decision  of  the  ‘Gorham  Case,'  he  united  with  the  late  Dr. 


!Mill  and  Archdeacon  Manning  in  addressing  a  circular  to  the 

o  o 

entire  body  of  the  Anglican  clergy  on  that  subj(?ct — the  Royal 
Supremacy  in  things  spiritual.  For  four  years  lie  has  been  jier- 
plexed  with  difficulties  relating  to  this  matter,  but,  at  length,  he 
reached  the  conviction,  that  the  declaration  to  which  lie  had 


subscribed  was  unlawful,  and  he  resolved  to  abaiulon  his  ])o.sition  in 
the  tdiurch.  As  there  wits  a  rumour  that  he  would  be  prosecuted 
in  the  Archbishop’s  Court  for  the  doctrine  taught  in  his  work  on 
‘The  Fucharist,’  he  thought  it  better  to  await  the  issue  of  such 
an  investigation  before  he  resigned  ;  but  aftiT  waiting  some 
weeks  without  receiving  any  intimation  that  it  would  take  pl.vce, 
he  sent  his  work  on  ‘Church-Authority’  to  the  pres.s,  and  on  the 
day  when  he  received  the  first  proof,  he  addressed  to  the  l^ord 
Archbishop  of  York  a  letter  (dated  Aug.  oO,  1  So  t)  .stating  his 
rea.sons  for  delay,  and  avowing  his  objection  to  tlie  royal  suprij- 
niacy.  ‘  With  the  grounds  of  my  objection,’  he  says,  ‘  1  need  not 
trouble  your  grace,  though  1  shall  shortly  state  them  to  the 
public  through  the  j)re.s.s.  To  your  grace,  however,  1  desire  to 
state,  that  1  recal  my  subscription  to  the  lirst  Article  in  the 
.SGth  Canon,  as  believing  it  to  be  contrary  to  the  law  of  God. 
It  remains,  of  course,  tiiat  I  should  offer  to  divest  myself  of  the 
trusts  and  preferments  of  which  this  .subscrij»tion  was  a  condition, 
and  ]mt  myself,  so  far  as  it  is  possihltj,  into  f/(e  CAmilitlon  o/  a 
mere  hnj  member  of  the  ChureJu  1  therefore  tender  my  lesig- 


736 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


imtioii  to  your  grace/  The  archbishop  accepted,  as  far  as  by  law 
he  might,  the  archdeacoi/s  resignation  of  the  preferments  he 
held  in  his  grace’s  diocese,  requiring  that  a  formal  resignation 
should  be  made,  either  before  himself  in  person,  or  before  a 
public  notary.  We  presume,  though  it  is  not  stated  by  Mr. 
R.  1.  Wilberforce,  that  legal  effect  was  given  to  his  resignation 
in  one  of  the  modes  required.  It  has  been  publicly  announced, 
that  the  late  archdeacon  left  London  about  the  b(‘ginning  of 
Jsx>vember,  along  with  Dr.  Grant,  of  Soutlnvark,  and  some  other 
Roman-catholic  clergy,  for  Paris,  where  he  was  received  into  the 
Roman-catholic  church. 

In  the  recent  Charge  of  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  the  archdeacon’s 
younger  brother,  we  expected  some  notice  would  be  taken  of 
these  changes,  especially  as  he  is  believed  to  have  said,  publicly, 
not  many  weeks  ago,  that  the  views  propounded  in  his  brother’s 
work  on  ‘  The  Eucharist’  were  the  only  views  which,  at  the  ])resont 
time,  w  ere  likely  to  save  the  Church  of  England.  Though  his  lord- 
ship  has  not  published  his  Charge,  we  may,  conditionally,  assunie 
the  accuracy  of  the  ‘Times’  report,  where  we  find  these  words, — 


‘  The  teaching  of  the  Church  of  England  as  to  this  (jreat  mi/,slvnj 
(the  Eucharist),  in  strict  agreement  with  the  Holy  8cii})ture  and 
primilivc  antiquilp,  is,  1  ai)prehcnd,  sinqdy  this, — lirst,  that  there 
is  a  peculiar'  and  aupernatural  presence  of  Christ  with  Jlis  people 
in  that  holi/  sacrament ;  that  in  it  lie  does,  in  and  hi/  the  due  re¬ 
ception  of  the  consecrated  atoms,  convey  to  the  faithful  receiver  a  real 
partaJeiny  of  His  hody  and  of  Jlis  blood,  wdierehy  the  souls  of  His 
laithful  peojde  are  nonrishe(l  and  refreshed,  but  that  He  has  not 
r(‘vealed  to  us  the  inode  or  the  condition  of  that  presence,  which,  being 
divine  and  siq)ernatural,  is  not  to  be  thought  of  or  made  the  subject  of 
argument,  as  if  it  either  were  governed  by  the  law',  or  entailed  the  eonse- 


(juences  of  a  material  ])rescnce.  To  the  many  (questions,  therefore, 
which  may  be  raised  touching  the  conditions  or  mode  of  this  jnvsence, 
our  Church  gives  no  answer,  hut  protests  against  their  discussion,  as 
being  curious  and  dangerous,  lus  being  likely  to  lead,  and  as  having  led, 
those  who  entertained  them  into  many  and  fearful  errors,  and  as  there¬ 
fore  to  be  discouraged  as  attempts  to  be  wise  above  what  is  written. 
Further,  as  the  sum  of  the  error  into  wdiich  many  have  been  led 
by  such  discussions,  she  pronounces  her  emphatie  censure.  Thus, 
in  asserting  that  to  such  as  lightly,  worthih',  and  with  faith  par¬ 
take  of  that  sacrament,  the  bread  which  we  break  is  a  partaking  ot 


the  quickened  aj)prehension  of  the  devout  worshipper ;  w  hile,  on  the 
other,  with  even  greater  explicitness,  she  condemns  the  papal  solution 
of  the  mystery,  whether  under  the  form  of  the  gross  material  trans¬ 
formation  of  the  bread  and  w  ine  into  llesh  and  blood — w  Inch  is  the 


belief  of  the  common  sort  among  her — or  whether  its  grossness  be 


THE  CLERICAL  WILRERFORCE.  737 

(liscTuised  by  that  subtle  fancy  which  pleases  more  educated  minds. 
We  may,  I  think,  without  dillieulty,  ijjather  what  may  he  our  teaehiiiflf 
as  to  this  ^reat  mystery.  We  should  first,  above  all  thiiiij^,  insist 
upon  the  reality  and  truth  of  that  supernatural  presence  which  our 
Lord  is  j^raeiously  ])lease(l  to  vouchsafe  in  that  saerann*nt  to  the  worthy 
receiver.  Next,  we  should  diseourat^e  to  the  utmost  of  our  ])ower  all 
s])eeulation  as  to  the  moile  of  that  presence  the  realitv  of  which  we 
inculcate,  luirther,  while  we  should  distinctly  condemn  those  specific 
forms  of  erroneous  teachins'  coni'crniufj^  the  mode  of  that  presence, 
which  our  Church  has  actually  censuri‘(l,  we  must  watch  ajj^ainst  that 
doufmati/inu^  spirit  which  woidd  lead  us  to  anathematize  all  with  whose 
sentiments  our  own  do  not  exactly  harmonize,  remi‘mh(*rini^  the  mode¬ 
ration  which  has  restrained  our  (.Mmrch  from  censiirin^jf  that  doctrine 
of  consuhstantiation  which  she  does  not  teach.  And,  lastly,  we  should 
lal)our  to  lead  our  people  from  curious  ipiestions  as  to  that  which  is 
emuirnllif  a  Uijistcrji  to  hr  rrrrirnl  siinpli/  In/  faith,  to  a  humble  and 
iimpiestioniniif  belief’ in  that  working;  of  the  power  of  Cod  which  ^ives 
imui  to  partake  af  thrir  Jjont^  wwA  to  (‘arnest  loni^iiii^s  for  tin*  i^reat 
spiritual  l)K*ssini>^s  which,  if  they  come  arii;ht,  will  Ih‘  vouchsafed  to 
tiicm  by  this  partakiin/  of  Chriat.' — ‘Times,’  Nov.  1  I,  iSoL 

We  need  scarcely  say,  that  the  expressions  which  we  have 
j)rinted  in  ifdlics  are  so  inarkeil  in  our  t*xtract  niendy  for  tlie 
pur|)ose  of  referring  to  them  as  we  proceed. 

\Ve  have  read  the  treat  ise  on‘  The  Holy  Kiicharist*  with  grave, 
])atient,  and — we  hope — candiil  attention,  much  impresse«l  with 
the  seriousness,  the  learning,  the  consistency,  and  the  manifestly 
devout  tone  in  which  it  is  written,  and  much  impres.sed,  also, 
with  the  large  extent,  to  say  the  leiust,  in  which  it  harmonizes 
with  the  fornialaries  of  the  Anglican  Church,  with  the  teaching 
of  her  clergy,  and  with  tluj  unfeigned  Ixdief  of  her  nuunhers. 

Now,  wa^  must  begin  hy  saying,  that  it  is  as  easy  for  us  to 
understand  the  New  Testament  as  it  is  to  understand  the 
writings  of  Cyril  or  of  Andu'ose.  It  is  the  most  popnlarly 
written  hook  in  the  w'orld.  What  do  we  tiiid,  then,  on  the 
subject  of  this  volume  in  the  New'  Testament  ?  We  do  not  find 
a  syllable  al)0ut  any  mcramcnfj — any  clrvlod  priesthood,-  any 
^dements,' — any  'hohj  mifsfer/f  in  the  Lord’s  Suj)per, — any 
expression  bearing  on  ‘ consecration’ of  the  ‘elements,’ — anything 
about  the  ‘real  presence,’  or  ‘oblation,’  or  ‘sacrifice,’  or  ‘Holy 
Eucharist;’  and  yet  Mr.  Wilherforce  stiys,  ‘  Hut  that  Christ’s 
presence  in  the  Holy  Eucharist  is  a  real  ])resence ;  that  the 
blessings  of  the  new  life  ani  truly  hestow(‘d  in  it,  through  the 
New  Adam  ;  that  consecration  is  a  real  act,  whereby  the  inward 
part  or  thing  signified  is  joined  to  the  outward  and  visible  sign  ; 
and  that  the  Eucharistic  oblation  is  a  real  sacrifice  these  points 
it  will  be  attempted  to  prove  by  the  testimony  ot  Scripture  (Uid 
of  the  ancient  fathers* 

N.S. — VOL.  VIII.  3  B 


73S 


THE  CLERICAL  WILRERFORCE. 


Neither  ^Ir.  Wilberferce  nor  any  other  writer  can  prove  to  the 
nndei'standing  of  a  plain  Englishman  that  such  is  the  jdaiii 
teaching  of  the  New  Testament.  We  know  that  the  Scripture 
was  intended  to  teach,  not  to  ])rove  that  other  teaching  is  true. 
Jt  has  been  said  long  ago,  and  repeated  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Dublin,  that  it  is  one  thing  to  be  on  the  side  of  Scripture, 
another  thing  to  show  that  we  have  Scripture  on  ov  r  side 
With  us  it  is  a  suflicient  rcixson  for  rejecting  all  the  teaching  of 
the  world  on  this  subject,  that  it  is  brought  to  the  Scripture,  not 
sim])ly  found  in  it.  It  is  utterly  vain  to  array  the  names  of 
Justin,  Ignatius,  Aunbrose,  and  Augustin.  It  offends  our  reli¬ 
gious  sentiment  to  have  these  men  and  their  explanations  jdaced 
together  with  inspired  writers,  as  in  the  phrase  we  have  (juoted — 

‘  the  testimony  of  Scripture  and  of  the  ancient  fathers.’  Jemis 
vjc  Inioir,  and  Paid  ivc  lniou\  hut  v'ho  are  thet^e  ? 

The  source  of  infinite  obscurities,  errors,  inconsistencies,  and 
absurdities,  is  found  in  this  initial  confounding  of  divinely 
inspired  teachers  with  men  who  were  not  divinely  inspired.  It 
is  not  our  intention  to  enter  into  the  arguments  for  the  ins])ira- 
tion  which  gives  divine  authority  to  the  Hol}^  Scriptures,  hut 
rather  to  show  that  the  doctrines  taught  by  ]\Ir.  Wilberforce  are 
vitiated  from  the  very  commencement  by  the  dishonour  which  he 
casts  on  the  testimony  of  Scripture  by  includincf  in  that  ta^- 
timonij  that  of  the  ‘  ancient  fathers.’ 

Inde])endeiitly  of  this  fundamental  false  assumption,  we  must 
avow  our  dissatisfaction  with  the  rejjresentation  which  is  given 
so  confidently  and  so  broadly  of  the  distinctness,  and  the  accord¬ 
ance,  of  these  ‘  ancient  fathers  respecting  the  doctrine  of  the 
Holy  Eucharist.’  There  was  a  well  known  party  in  the  churcli 
of  England — the  non-jurors — who  formed  an  extreme  section, 
and  of  that  section  a  small  })ortion  only,  including  such  writers  as 
Brett,  iliekes,  and  Johnson,  made  vague  extracts  from  older 
divines,  now  ap])lied  by  tractists  to  purposes  in  which  the 
examination  of  the  works  quoted  shows  to  be  of  a  kind  which 
would  have  been  repudiated  by  the  original  writers.  In  the  same 
manner  it  is  the  practice  of  the  Roman  school  in  the  church  of 
England  to  follow  one  another  in  their  citations  from  ‘  the  ancient 
fathers,’  and  in  the  quiet  self-complacency  with  which  they  ])er- 
petuate  blunders  which  in  any  other  branch  of  literature  would 
be  contemptuously  dismissed  with  a  sigh,  or  laughed  at  with 
scorn.  All  who  have  studied  the  productions  of  this  school  in  the 
‘  Tracts  for  the  Times,’  and  other  works,  need  not  bo  told  that 
they  are  singularly  wanting  in  simplicity,  straiglitforwardness, 
and  downriglit  honesty  in  this  matter,  as  well  as  in  others.  They 
are  not  to  be  relied  on  for  accuracy  in  their  citations  from  the 
fathers,  and  in  the  interpretation  of  their  meaning. 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


Tt  is  well  known  to  all  who  are  convorsant  with  the  early 
Christian  writers,  that  Athanasius,  Gregory  Nvssen,  Cyril  of 
Alexandria,  Cyprian,  and  tleroine,  use  the  phras(‘  ‘  eviui^elical 
traditions  when  the  contt‘xt  clearly  shows  that  they  mean  the 
Gospel  as  we  have  it  in  the  New  Testament ;  and  yet  these 
English  writers,  following  in  the  track  of  Romanists,  dt'lusively 
represent  the  lathers  here  relened  to  as  maintaining  the  autho¬ 
rity  of  those  traditions  ol  the  Church  which  are  7/0^  written  in  the 
Scriptures.  Need  we  l)e  surprised,  then,  that  they  are  suspecttal — 
not  suspected  only,  hut  conclded — of  dealing  in  like  manner 
with  the  same  ancient  fathers  on  the  subject  of  ‘the  Eucharist.* 
Noneot  the  ancient  creeils  or  liturgies  have  the  slightest  grounds 
of  pretension  that  they  were  sanctioned  by  the  apostles.  'Jdie 
universal  consent  of  the  Church  is  a  men.‘  ecclesiastical  ligment. 
It  imagines — what  is  not,  and  coidd  not  be  true — that  tlu*  Chris¬ 
tians  scattered  over  the  Roman  empire,  wln^  had  but  little  inter- 
coui’se  with  each  other,  are  Iniotm  to  have  (Hfrced  on  certain 
creeds.  All  we  have  wherefrom  to  judge  is  the  testimony  of  a 
few  writers — not  to  being  a  fact — but  to  the  view  which  tiny 

held  themselv€\s.  The  C^itholic  CUiurch  iu!ver  iussend»led,  never 
interchanged  opinions,  was  never  represent(‘d.  And  Jis  to  the 
ancient  writers,  out  of  tiie  myriads  of  books  without  number 
{fnvfda  Kill  j^ijiXla)  nioiitiom'd  in  the  ‘Synopsis 

of  Scripture*  attributed  to  Athanasius,  all  we  now  have  are 
Barnabas,  Hernias,  the  epistles  of  Clemens,  Polycarp,  and  Ig¬ 
natius,  and  works  replying  to  heathen  adversaries  and  heretics, 
which  have  no  bearing  on  inoilern  (piestions — such  as  thost^  of 
Justin  Martyr,  Ireiueus,  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  'J'ertullian, 
Cyprian,  Origen,  Jjactantius,  together  with  tin*  small  tracts  of 
Athenagoras,  *rheophilus  of  Antio(*h,  Hypl>olitus,  Gregory  of 
Neoca‘sarea,  Minucius  Felix,  and  Arnobius.  We  can  scarcely 
be  (‘Xjiected  to  accept  these  as  exhibiting  the  consmit  of  all 
the  Christian  churches  in  th('  world  during  the  first  thret*  hun¬ 
dred  years.  Neither  are  we  willing  to  acce]>t  these  few  writers 
as  fair  expounders  of  ortlunlox  truth.  *rhe  Roman  (Jiurch  had 
the  will  and  the  power  both  to  condemn  and  to  de^stroy  all  su<*h 
brioks  as  did  not  support  her  own  opinions.  Did  not  the  fifth 
General  Council  (as  it  is  called)  anathematize  the  liooks  of  three 
bi.shops  who  had  died  long  before  in  the  communion  of  the 
Catholic  Church  i  J>id  not  the  Nicenc  (kmncil  sanction  the  use 
of  images?  How  many  forgeries  hav(;  been  detecttnl  in  the 
names  "of  the  fathers  of  the  first  six  centuries?  H  j  1  la  i\ 
works,  noxious  to  the  ruling  ecclesiastical  powers,  have  been 
strangled  from  their  birth  i  A  curious  examjile  of  the  trick  my  of 
churchmen  is  recorded  by  Archbishop  W  ake,  which,  as  it  bears 
on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Wilbertorces  book  (‘  *J  he  Holy  Eucharist), 

3  B  2 


V  t  I  *  ‘  i,.- (f  * '  *  »  ...  T  •  •  1  . 


740 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


especially  on  his  confident  assertions  regarding  the  consent  of 
the  Church  to  his  doctrine,  we  will  give  it  from  Dr.  Wake's 
‘  Defence  of  the  Exposition  of  the  Doctrine  of  the  Church  of 
Englaixl  against  de  Meaux.'  An  ‘  Epistle  of  Chrysostom  to 
Ca'sarius'  was  quoted  by  Peter  Martyr  in  his  dispute  with 
Gardiner.  Peter  Martyr  said  he  had  copied  the  extract  from  a 
Florentine  MS.,  and  he  })laced  it  in  the  library  of  Archbishop 
Cranmer.  The  extract  is  as  follows — ‘Antequam  sanctiticetur 
panis,  panem  nominamus,  divina  autem  sanctificante  gratia, 
mediante  sacerdote,  liberatus  est  quidem  appellatione  panis, 
tlignus  autem  habitus  est  Dominici  corporis  ap])ellatione  etiam 
naiura  panis  in  ipso  permansit which  Dr.  M^ake  translates — 
‘  Before  the  bread  is  consecrated,  we  call  it  bread ;  but  when  the 
grace  of  (iod,  by  the  priest,  has  consecrated  it,  it  is  no  longer 
called  bread,  but  is  esteemed  worthy  to  be  called  the  Lord’s 
body,  ((Itliovffh  the  nature  of  bread  still  remains  in  it/  Gardiner 
ascrilH‘d  it  to  another  John  of  Constantinople,  who  lived  near  the 
beginning  of  the  sixth  century  :  though  this  would  not  hel})  his 
argument,  inasmuch  as  the  passage  would  then  show  that  tran- 
substantiation  was  not  the  doctrine  of  the  Church  in  the  sixth 


century.  As  the  co])y  made  by  Peter  ^lartvr  was  lost  in  the  dis¬ 
persion  of  Cranmer's  library.  Cardinal  Perron  accused  Peter 
Martyr  of  lying,  in  his  own  treatise  of  the  Eucharist,  using  many 
arguments  to  prove,  as  Bellarniine  also  did,  that  there  never  was 
such  an  epistle  as  the  one  ])retended.  A  hundred  and  thirty-two 
years  after,  ^l.  Bigot  brought  to  Paris  a  copy  of  the  ‘  E])istle' 
from  Florence,  ])rinted  it  with  his  edition  of  ‘  Palladius,'  and 
strengthened  it  with  such  attestations  as  show  it  beyond  all  doubt 
to  be  genuine.  Before  the  publication,  however,  the  printed 
leaves  of  this  part  were  cut  out  by  the  Doctors  of  the  Sorbonne. 
d’hese  very  leaves  came  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Wake,  who  ])ub- 
lislu‘d  them  in  the  aj)])endix  to  his  ‘  Defence.'  The  ‘  Epistle’  is 
declared  by  the  Benedictine  editors  of  Chrysostom  to  be  entirely 
s])urious.  Cave,  Du  Pin,  Cooke,  Dailld,  and  James,  have  proved 
that  many  hundreds  of  works,  of  which  many  have  been  re¬ 
peatedly  quoted  by  Homan  controvertists  against  Prote.stants,  are 
either  ‘shameless  forgeries,  or  at  least  of  verv  doubtful  authority, 
and  very  uncertain  authorship.' 

While  Augustin  knew  that  the  Canonical  Scripture  was  pre¬ 
served  from  corruption  by  the  variety  of  languages  in  which  it  is 
found,  and  by  constant  ]niblic  reading  in  the  churches,  he  bitterly 
complains,  in  his  Epistle  to  Vincentius,  of  inter])olations  in  the 
writings  of  C^qnian.  Similar  complaints  are  made  by  Isidoriis 
Hispalensis,  by  Anastatius  Sinaita,  find  many  others  ;  and  we 
need  scarcely  mention  the  residts  of  criticism  with  referenct^  to 
many  copies  of  ‘  ancient  fathers.'  Of  Cyril,  who  is  so  ])rime  a 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFOUCE. 


741 


favourite  ^vith  ^Ir.  A\  ilbertoroe,  we  have  many  ])roofs  that  his 
works  were  corrupted  alter  his  death.  The  siune  is  true  of 
Ambrose,  lertullian,  CEcumenius,  C'yprian,  Augustin,  and 
Ciregory  the  Great;  and  tliere  is  not  an  edition  of  tlie  ‘Councils* 
in  Nviiich  there  are  not  ‘  spurious  canons  and  decretal  epistles  of 
ancient  j)opes  put  in,  and  genuine  canons  left  out  or  corrupted* 
(Bishop  Barlow*s  ‘Directions  for  Choice  of  Hooks,*  »k’c.  p.  .S2). 
J  his  practice  has  been  even  defended,  on  the  j)rinci]>le  that 
though  the  sayings  ot  the  fatlua's,  (Os  they  are  fathers,  ni‘ed  no 
purging,  yet  that  being  considered  as  sons,  their  words  may  be 
corrc'cteil  and  censured  by  the  Church  ! 

Even  supposing  that  the  uncorrupted  writings  of  the  fathers 
are  in  our  ])ossession,  on  lu)w  many  ])oints  of  fundamental 
importance  in  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  can  they  be  ]>roved 
to  hold  tlie  same  judgment  i  It  is  not<nious  that  the  ortlio(h»xy 
ot  deceased  tatliers  was  denied  by  tlieir  succi'ssors.  When*  did 
Dr.  Clarke  and  Mr.  Whi.ston  tind  their  lieterodoxy  ?  Do  not 
Papias,  Irenaais,  Justin  Martyr,  Tertullian,  Lactantius,  and  others, 
profess  to  have  received  from  apostolic  tradition  tho.se  terrene 
views  of  tlie  millennium  which  later  fathers  n‘pudiatod  with  ridi¬ 
cule.  And  has  it  not  been  proved  that  the  authority  of  apos¬ 
tolical  traditions  was  often  alleged  for  o}>inions  and  practict^s 
which  could  not  be  thus  sustained  ?  Not  only  on  matters  of 
doctrine,  l)ut  on  statements  of  fact,  these  siime  fathers,  and  Coun¬ 
cils  even,  have  been  convicted  by  learned  men  of  contradicting 
one  another.  Yet  such  is  the  kind  of  authority  on  whi(!h  Mr. 
Wilberforce  leans  for  his  doctrine  of  the  Eucharist ! 

We  shall  not  wa.ste  many  words  on  the  .supposed  neces.sity  ot 
eonsecvdtioii  In/  a  prieM  to  the  validity  of  the  Lord’s  Su|>per. 
This  supj)osed  neces.sity  is  ba.sed  on  two  otlua*  supj>ositions,  both 
contrary  to  Scripture, — that  the  Eucharist  is  a  s((cr//ic(',  and  that 
Christian  ministers  are  ttncrljici inj  ]»rie.sts.  Tertullian  and  .lustin 
Martyr  may  both  be  adduced  as  teaching  that  all  ( Jiristians  an* 
priests,  and  that  the  Eucharist  is  a  .siu*ritic(^  in  no  other  sense  than 
that  in  which,  according  to  the  Scriptures,  prayers,  jaaises, 
pecuniary  contribution.s,  and  gifts  ot  bread  and  wine  tor  the  use 
of  the  Church,  an*  .s<acritices. 

It  were  not  dillicult  to  trace  the  gradual  admixture  of  human 
superstitions  with  the  service  ot  which  an  apostle  stiy.s,  ‘  Eat  this 
bread,  and  drink  this  cup,*  and  thus ‘show  ye  forth  the  Lord’s 
death  till  he  come.*  We  object  to  these  <(s  superstitious  things 
adde<l  to  the  divine  ajipointment  ;  but  that  objection  is  immea¬ 
surably  strengthened  by  considering  the  purposes  to  which  the*y 

are  rendered  subservient.  ^ 

Mr.  Wilberforce  (]uotes  with  ajijaobation  from  Augustins 
‘  Eiiarration  on  the  *1  hirty-third  Psalm  the  words,  Chii.st  wa.8 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


I 


carried  in  his  o^vn  hands  when,  commending  his  own  body,  he 
said,  *  this  is  my  body,'  for  he  bore  that  body  in  his  own  hands; 
and  he  adds,  in  his  own  words : — 

‘  That  which  our  Lord  began  to  do  by  his  own  words  wlien  he  was 
upon  earth,  he  still  contimtea  to  do  through  the  ministrg  of  hifi  servants^ 
now  that  he  has  asi*ended  into  lieaven.  •  The  commission  given  to  his 
apostles  was  to  re])resent  himself.  This  commission  they  delivered  to 
their  successors,  the  bishops  throughout  the  world.  From  them  have 
all  ]>riests  received  like  authority.  So  that  the  action  which  they 
severally  ])erform  is  not  their  own  action,  but  the  perpetuation  of  that 
])riesth()od  of  ]\lelchizedek  which  their  Great  Head  was  pleased  to 
undertake.’ — p.  ol. 

Now,  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  what  is  here  so  coolly  affirmed, 
is  about  as  different  as  anything  can  be  from  what  we  lind  in  the 
New  Testament,  ^latthew,  ^lark,  Luke,  and  Paul  tell  us  what 
Jesus  (lid  when  he  gave  the  ‘  bread’  and  ‘  the  cup’  to  his  disciples, 
but  they  do  not  use  the  same  words  in  reporting  what  he  said, 
yet  tlie/  speak  of  the  eating  and  drinking  as  to  be  done  in 
‘remembrance’  of  Christ.  All  that  is  said  by  Mr.  Wilberforce  about 
consecration,  succession  of  the  ministry,  and  efficacy  of  the 
Eucharist,  is  udded  from  other  sources,  and  the  only  purpose  it 
can  serve  is  to  draw  away  the  reader  from  the  only  testimonies 
which  exist,  namely,  those  of  three  evangelists,  and  one  apostla 

We  have  carefully  examined  all  the  arguments  employed  by 
Mr.  Wilberforce  to  sustain  the  application  of  our  Lord’s  discourse 
in  the  sixth  chapter  of  John’s  Gospel  to  ‘  the  Eucharist’  He  has 
not  noticed  some  objections  to  his  interpretation,  which  we  deem 
fatal. 

First — On  the  supposition  that  he  referred  prophetically  to 
that  institution,  the  language  of  his  disciples  was  perfectly 
natural,  and  his  language  to  them  in  reply  as  unlike  him  as  we 
could  possibly  conceive. 

Secondly — Would  he  have  said  ‘Ye  have  no  life  in  you,’  to 
men  who  could  not,  at  that  time,  use  the  only  means  by  which, 
according  to  the  theory  of  Mr.  Wilberforce,  that  life  was.  to  be 
attiuned  ? 

Thirdly — Though  it  is  perfectly  obvious  that  our  Lord  referred 
to  the  sam^  r/raiul  facts,  truths,  and  inward  experiences  which 
are  symbolized  in  the  Lord’s  Supper,  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
he  refers  to  the  symbols  in  so  speaking,  of  which  no  mention  is 
made. 

Lastly — If  our  Lord  d/id  refer  to  the  symbols,  it  is  most 
unaccountable  that  John  has  given  no  intimation  of  his  doing  so. 
We  say  John, — because  he  does  not  record  the  institution  of  the 
supper,  and  also,  and  chiefly,  because  we  observe  that  it  is  the 
habit  of  this  Evangelist  to  interpose  such  explanations  in  a  manner 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE.  743 

quite  peculiar  to  this  Gospel.  For  oxainples  In  the  si-xty-fourth 
veise  ot  the  ^iiie  chapter  he  says-(‘  For  Jesus  knew  from  the 

'vho  shouhl 


Fi.of  at  1  .  -  III  nil  I  u  laem  ne 

that  (.a  me  to  Jesus  hy  iiiirht,  heiiig  one  of  them);  in  chap.  .xii.  G— 

(  inis  he  said,  not  that  he  cared  for  the  iioor,’  i'tc.)  •  !(> _ f'Tliis 

he  s;inl  signifying  what  Jeath  he  shouhl  ,lio’);  i,„ 

iiew  who  shouhl  betray  him,  therefore  he  said,’  &c.)  •  28 _ 

(  i\o\v,  no  man  at  the  table  knew  for  what  intent  he  .siia’ke  this 
unto  him,  tor  some  of  them  thought,’  &c.)  We  have  selected 
but  a  tew  from  the  numerous  examples  of  this  kind  of  interposed 
explanation;  an.l  we  are  sati.sHed  that  he  who  patiently  considers 
tins  matter,  m  connexion  with  the  i.revious  objections;  will  know 
how  to  estimate  the  fallacy  of  Mr.  Wilberforce  in  .sayim.’-*  And 
wius  It  not  riither  to  be  expected  that  St.  John  would  have  added 
a  caution  that  fhts  ciLstom  was  not  referred  to,  if  our  Lord  s 
words  liad  no  reference  to  a  practice  wliicli  from  the  first  occu¬ 
pied  so  large  a  part  in  the  thoughts  and  attention  of  Christians  f 
W  e  are  strengthened  m  our  objections  to  this  application  from 
the  tact  that  it  is  so  much  used  hy  the  advoaites  of  transub- 
miniiahony  as  tlie  words  of  our  Lord  to  iS'icodeinus— where 
no  mention  is  made  ot  baptism — are  applied  to  tliat  rite  by  tlio 
advocates  of  baptismal  regeneration.  Jgnaiius  and  Iremeus, 
lertullian  and  Cyprian,  Cyril  and  Hilary,  Origen  and  Biusil,  Chry¬ 
sostom  and  Augustin,  might  easily  express  themselves  jis  they  did 
without  any  idea  of  Mr.  W  ilberforce's  theory ;  but  whether  they 
did  so  or  not,  we  know  enough  of  the  tendencies  to  magnify  the 
priestly  office  and  the  sacraments,  which  had  so  early  a  beginning 
and  so  destructive  a  progress,  to  attach  but  slight  importance  to 
such  prejudiced  interjireters  of  Scripture.  We  cannot  express 
the  degree  in  which  our  sense  of  religion  is  shockeil  by  such 
miserable  jargon  as  that  with  which  an  archdeacon  of  the 
Church  of  England  disgusts  us  when  he  says  of  Cyril’s  words, _ 

‘  For  those,  it  may  be  said,  wore  hut  tlie  statonuaits  of  individuals, 
and  luay  huve  lailod  to  rojirosont  tlu*  judginont  of  the  wlu»le  church! 
Hut  St.  Cyril’s  intorpn'tation  of  tliis  chapter  was  introduced  into  the 
letter  which,  as  jiresident  of  a  synod  at  Alexandria,  ho  addn'ssed  to 
Nestorius,  and  which  was  road  with  approbation  at  tlie  (’ouncil  of 
Kpliesus.  So  that  in  referring  our  Lord’s  words  to  the  Holy 
Luchtii  1st,  we  are  not  only  borne  out  by  the  private  testimony  of 
ancient  writers,  but  have  tlie  liighest  sanctioii  that  can  be  given  to  any 
interpretation  of  Scripture,  in  the  approval  of  one  of  those  general 
councils,  which  express  the  mind  of  the  spirit  and  the  authonty  of  tlia 
church.’ — p.  I7f). 


•’  trqb-’'  ‘  1 


.  ■  "1  •»  .i  5  '1  '  .  .  •.  .  .• 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


7^^ 

We  can  scarcely  believe  that  the  writer  of  this  most  offensively 
superstitious  passage  did  not  know  the  indecent  haste  and  party 
spirit  of  the  party  attached  to  Cyril  in  that  council.  How  thick 
must  he  the  veil  of  piirty,  how  immoral  its  bias,  when  any  man 
of  common  sense  and  decency  can  speak  of  such  an  assembly  as 
ex|)ressing  ‘  the  mind  of  the  Spirit.'  So  long  as  college  tutors, 
public  examiners  in  universities,  Jind  archdeacons  in  the  Church 
of  England,  allow  themselves  to  be  so  misled  l)y  non-juring 
clergymen  .and  Roman-c.atholic  authorities  as  to  reverence  such 
assemblies  of  men  in  former  times,  the  le.ast  we  c.an  do  is  to  join 
in  the  complaint  of  Jeremy  Taylor  in  his  ‘Liberty  of  Prophesy¬ 
ing' — ‘  That  which  1  complain  of  is,  tlnat  we  look  upon  wise  men 
that  lived  long  ago  with  such  veneration  .and  mistake,  th.at  we 
reverence  them — not  for  having  been  wise  men — but  that  they 
lived  lo)i(j  since/ 

We  are  more  .amused  than  puzzled,  and  more  puzzled  than 
cither  instructed  or  convinced,  bv  .Mr.  Wilberforce's  elaborate 
distinctions  between  si/mholical  aud  virtual  presence,  and  real 
})resence  and  corporal  presence,  and  sacramental  presence  and 
supernatural  })rescnce.  All  we  need  to  sa}^  in  answer  to  this 
verbiage,  is,  that  the  presence  of  the  body  of  Christ  is  a  visible 
liodihj  presence,  .and  th.at  this  is  the  only  real  j)resence  of  th.at 
body — neither  supernatur.al  nor  sacr.amental.  To  say  that  this 
])resence  is  in  bread  and  wine  is  to  say  that  which  no  consecration 
can  render  otherwise  th.an  palpably  false. 

To  ascribe  such  power  to  a  human  priest,  and  to  s.ay  that  this 
priest's  action  is  the  action  of  our  Lord,  is  an  assumption  which 
is  not  merely  ungrounded  in  Scripture,  not  merely  as  op])osed  to 
the  teaching  of  Scripture  .as  it  is  to  common  sense,  but  the 
imaginary  investing  of  a  sinful  mortal  with  a  power  which 
degrades  an  intelligent  and  responsible  agent  into  the  p.assive 
instrument  of  an  audacious  sacerdotal  system.  Only  believe  that 
.any  man,  by  repe.ating  certain  words,  can  work  a  miiacle  th.at 
makes  no  appeal  to  the  senses — as  all  real  miracles  do — hut 
which  is  infinitely  above  .all  the  recorded  miracles  of  Jesus,  as  it 
is  infinitely  above  .all  the  rational  conceptions  of  the  human 
intellect,  and  you  put  it  in  that  man's  power  to  save  or  to  destroy 
your  soul  for  ever.  Since  it  is  a  fact  that  so  tremendous  an  absurdity 
has  taken  the  place  of  enlightened  faith  in  the  popular  mind  of 
Christendom,  it  behoves  us  to  denounce,  in  the  strongest  language 
of  moral  indignation,  every  attempt  to  blind  men's  eyes  to  its 
enormity  by  the  dust  of  .anti(pnty,  or  by  the  artfull3"-woven  veils 
of  perverted  logic.  The  man  who  wrote  this  book  was  i n  his  soul 
a  slave,  and  knew  no  better  emplo^nnent  than  that  of  making 
slaves  of  other  men.  Professing  to  advocate  the  doctrines  of  the 
Church  of  England,  and  adhering  to  its  forms,  and  professing,  but 


THE  CLEIUCAL  WILBERFORCE. 


74.5 


a  few  weeks  before  his  secession,  to  have  the  desire  of  being  in 
‘  the  condition  of  a  mere  lay  member  of  her  communion,' — and 
this  only  after  the  threat  of  legal  proceedings  against  him  as  one 
of  her  ministers — he  must  all  the  time  have  been  in  his  heart  the 
serf  of  that  terrible  master  who  claims  a  right  to  rule  the  destinies 
of  all  mankind.  We  have  no  wish  to  judge  harshly  of  men  s 
motives  :  such  is  not,  indeed,  our  })rovince  ;  but  we  cannot  allow 
ourselves  to  be  blinded  to  the  facts  that  a  ‘complaint’  had  been 
laid  before  the  archbishop  against  Mr.  Wilberforce's  work  on 
‘  The  Holy  Eucharist,'  and  that  there  was  a  nimour  of  a  prose¬ 
cution  before  his  resignation  was  tendered,  and  that  when  it  was 
tendered,  no  reference  was  made  to  that  book,  or  to  the  iiicom- 
patibility  of  its  principles  with  his  position  in  the  Church,  but  to 
his  dissatisfaction  with  a  law  which  deprives  the  men  who  hold 
such  principles  of  the  power  of  enforcing  them  on  their  fellow- 
subjects. 

It  was  for  the  jnirpose  of  exhibiting  the  ground  of  this 
dissatistaction  with  the  law  of  the  land  that  Mr.  Wilberforco 
published  his  work  on  the  principles  of  Church  authority.  We 
fear  that  dissenters  are  in  danger  of  imagining  that  Mr.  Wilber- 
force  s  principles  of  Church  authority  desene  to  be  resj)ected  by 
them,  especially  because  they  seem  to  approach  their  own.  We 
assure  them  that  there  could  not  be  a  greater  mistake.  To  j)rovo 
this,  it  is  only  requisite  to  remind  them  that  the  (piestion  here  is 
not  between  individual  freedom  and  submission  to  external  supre¬ 
macy,  l)ut  between  the  supremacy  of  the  pope  and  the  supremacy 
of  the  State,  in  all  matters  belonging  to  an  established  national 
church.  If  there  must  be  an  ultimate  decision  by  authority, 
ought  that  decision  to  terminate  within  the  legitimate  authorities 
of  the  land,  or  ought  it  to  come  from  a  foreign  ])otentate? 
Granting  that  the  State  is  bound  to  endow  the  Church — is  the 
State  competent  to  decide  for  itself  what  the  Church  is,  and  what 
are  its  doctrines  and  usages;  or  must  the  State  endow  a  Church, 
whatever  judgment  the  State  may  have  formed  of  the  etfect  of 
that  Church  on  its  own  siifety  and  well-being  ?  Is  the  State  to 
confer  peculiar  honours  and  emoluments  on  a  man,  and  to  have 
no  authority  over  him  in  the  matter  for  which  these  distinctions 
are  conferred  {  The  dissenter  says — there  ought  to  be  110  such 
established  national  church,  no  such  endowment,  and,  therefore, 
no  such  authority  in  the  State ;  because  he  so  thinks  he  in  a 
dissenter.  But  with  the  avowed  lioman  Catholic,  and  the  non- 
avowed  Roman  Catholic  in  the  Anglican  Establishment,  the  duty 
of  the  State  in  the  matter  of  endowment  is  maintained,  while  the 
right  of  the  State  to  determine  whether  the  clergy  fulfil  the 
conditions  on  which  the  endowment  is  given,  is  denied.  If  a 
bishop  condemns  a  clergyman  to  the  loss  of  his  worldly  status 


746 


THE  CLElllCAL  WILBERFORCE. 


a  minister  of  the  Established  Church,  the  State  claims  the  right  to 
determine  whether  he  does  it  in  accordance  with  the  laws  which 
are  made  for  the  protection  of  all  its  subjects.  Now,  this  authority 
of  the  Stiite  is  denied  by  dissenters,  because  they  deny  the  right  of 
the  State  to  put  men  in  the  position  which  renders  such  authority 
necessary ;  but  dissenters,  as  such,  do  not  deny  that  tlie 
sovereign  of  the  realm  has  supreme  authority  in  the  Clmrch  as 
hy  luw  established.  By  long  struggles — in  suftering  as  well  as  in 
argument  —  they  have  achieved  their  own  freedom,  and  it  is 
part  of  that  freedom  to  state  their  objections  boldly,  and  to 
diffuse  as  widely  as  they  can  their  own  peculiar  principles.  But 
no  dissenter  is  prepared,  with  !Mr.  Wilberforce,  to  transfer  the 
royal  supremacy  of  England  to  the  Pope  of  Rome. 

The  whole  drift  of  Mr.  Wilberforce's  book  is  to  establish  the  uni¬ 
versal  supremacy  of  the  pope.  The  method  in  which  he  does  tliis  does 
not  materially  differ  from  that  which  is  common  to  the  advocates 
of  the  same  principle.  But  there  is  in  his  book  this  peculiarity — 
that  he  em])ioys  throughout  the  aryunicntiun  ad  ho'iuinein  as 
an  English  churchman  addressing  his  fellow-churchmen.  We 
will  not  conceal  our  conviction  that — in  some  respects,  and  to  a 
certain  extent — there  is  nuich  force  in  this  argument  for  the 
pur])Ose  he  has  in  view,  though  it  is  of  no  avail  whatever,  in  that 
object  which  is  immeasurably  higher  than  the  one  at  which  he 
aims — the  development  of  divine  truth. 

In  his  fii*st  chapter,  he  states  his  views  of  THE  NATURE  OF  THE 
Church,  which  he  calls  an  organic  body, — appealing,  on  behalf 
of  his  views,  to  ‘the  Scriptural  definition,"  to  ‘  prophecy,"  and  to 
‘  the  analogy  of  doctrine,  Christ  incarnate  in  history."  The 
second  chapter  is  entitled  ‘THE  Church  hath  Authority  in 
Matters  of  Faith,"  for  which  position,  after  sundry  explanations, 
he  seeks  support  in  the  conduct  of  the  apostles,  the  testi¬ 
mony  of  ancient  church  writers,  and  the  acts  of  the  church.  The 
third  chapter,  on  THE  Nature  of  Church  Authority,  includes 
the  following  positions :  — That  the  Church,  as  a  teacher,  must 
herself  expkiin  the  principles  of  her  teachings — the  principles  of 
Church  authority,  not  merely  that  the  earliest  ages  were  nearest 
the  fountain-he^,  but  that  the  body  of  Christ  is  inhabited  by 
His  spirit ;  therefore,  separation  from  the  church’s  body  [the 
Body’s  body]  supposed  by  early  Christians  to  separate  from  the 
spirit  of  love  and  life  ; — Church  authority  refers  to  matters  of 
faith  only,  but  to  all  matters  of  faith  ; — Church  authority,  the 
order  of  grace — private  judgment,  the  order  of  nature ; — the 
Church’s  authority  [over  the  Church]  must  continue  as  long  as  its 
existence  [in  heaven,  therefore,  of  course],  because  derived  from 
the  indwelling  of  Christ’s  spirit — so  understood  by  Uie  early 
church  writers  [all  the  writers,  or  only  those  whom  the  Church 


TUE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


retains  ?J  especially  St  Augustin,  in  his  controversy  with  the 
Donatists;  these  statements  not  inconsistent  witli  respect  for 
Holy  Scripture,  which  it  is  the  office  of  the  Cliurch  to  interpret 
[ro  the  Church  !]  and  not  supersede  (Scripture  the  rule,  Cliurch 
the  judge),  not  inconsistent  with  reason,  which  allows  that  men 
are  not  always  good  judges  in  their  own  case ; — the  like  authority 
^t  professed  by  the  Jewish  church,  because  not  inhabited  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,  or  teaching  a  dogmatic  system  of  doctrine.  In 
Chapter  lourth,  the  writer  aims  at  proving  that  the  collective 
EPisc(n>ATE  is  the  medium  of  ctiurc  h  authority,  by  stating 
that  Christ  s  mystical  body  is  an  organized  society,  dejiending  on 
supernatural  means  and  on  the  inheritance  in  the  last  Adam,  as 
human  society  on  natural  means  and  the  first  Adam's  inheritance, 
Its  object  being  to  comimuiicate  grace  [to  itself?]  and  witness  to 
truth,  and  that  its  law  of  organization  is  that  ^thc  same  persons* 
are  ‘  unUvldualh/  the  dispensers  of  ffrace,  and  collectively 
the  Witness  to  truth.*  Chapter  Fifth  maintains  that  A  hieilvrchy 
IS  NECESSARY  TO  THE  ACTION  OF  COLLECTIVE  KPISCOPATR  The 
authority  of  the  church  officers  depends  on  their  unanimity  [on 
M hat  does  their  unanimity  rest  ?|.  Idle  apostles  were  sure  to  Jict 
together  because  they  were  inspired  ;  but  the  unanimity  of  their 
successors  is  not  inspiration,  though  that  idono  secures  the 
unanimity  of  ajiostles,  but  by  a  system  of  metropolitans  which 
dates  fiom  [not  apostles,  mark]  but  from  apostolic  times,  mid 
'was  111  lull  action  during  the  second  century.  Harmony  wjis 
secureil  among  metropolitans  by  a  system  of  patriarchs.  The 
hierarchy  was  not  created  by  positive  laws,  but  by  the  growth  of 
the  chuich  s  organization.  In  Chapter  the  Sixth,  we  are  taught 
that  THE  FORM  OF  THE  HlERARcaiY  WAS  PRESCRIIIED  RY  THE 

PRIMAC\  OF  St.  Peter.  As  the  Christian  kingdom  was  predicted 
to  be  but  one,  unanimity  was  needed  among  the  patriarchs,  and, 
(iccordiny  to  ^t.  Cypruiii^  a  provision  was  made  for  this  purpose 
in  the  primacy  bestowed  by  Christ  upon  8t  Peter,  and  inherited 
by  the  chief  patriarch. 

Ill  the  Seventh  Chapter  it  is  alleged  that  A  primacy  is 
ASSIGN TO  St.  Peter  in  the  Gospei^.  The  proofs  are,  as 
usual,  his  priority  in  the  four  lists  of  the  ajxistles — the  expres¬ 
sions  which  mark  his  sujieriaiity — his  new  name,  whereby  he  was 
especially  associated  with  our  Lord — his  appointment  to  be  the 
Rock  of  the  Church  and  key-bearer — his  charge  to  stren<»lhen 
his  brethren — and  his  threefold  commission  to  feed  Christs 
Hock.  Chapter  Eighth  affirms  that  Piter's  primacy  ls  reco¬ 
gnized  in  the  Acts  and  the  Epistles.  Chapter  Ninth 
attemjits  to  show  that  THE  Bishop  of  Rome  is  8t.  Peter's 
Successor.  Chapter  Tenth  is  a  lalioured  argument  to  prove 
tliat  THE  Bishop  of  Rome  possessed  a  primacy  in  Ante- 


ti.p. 


1 1 


7^8 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


Nk’ENE  times.  The  Eleventh  Chapter  is  entitled  ‘  The 
Supremacy  of  the  Bishop  of  Rome,  the  Church's  Inter¬ 
pretation  OF  St.  Peter's  Primacy.*  The  Twelfth  Chapter  is 
headed — ‘How  FAR  the  Popular  Principle  of  Subscrip¬ 
tion  TO  the  Enolish  Formularif-s  is  compatible  with  the 
Rule  of  Church  Authority.*  In  discussing  this  question,  the 
author  maintains  that  subscription  to  the  English  formularies  is 
commonly  made  on  the  principle  of  private  judgment,  which  is 
incomjmtible  with  the  recofjnitioii  of  Church  authority;  hut 
private  judgment  assumes  the  inspiration  of  Scripture,  which 
cannot  he  proved  xvithout  the  anthovity  of  the  Churchy  and 
would  not  warrant  men  in  general  in  subscribing  propositions  so 
numerous  and  intimate  as  those  of  the  EuixHsh  formularies, 
especially  since  those  who  subscribe  them  understand  them  in  a 
different  sense.  Subscription,  therefore,  to  the  English  Formu¬ 
laries  was  originally  imposed,  and  is  still  rendered  by  high 
churchmen,  on  the  })rinciple,  that  the  Church*s  judgment  should 
guide  her  members  ;  but  the  Gorham  case  showed  that  the  Church 
of  England  has  transferred  the  decision  respecting  doctrines  to 
the  civil  power  ;  and  that  the  most  opposite  statements  respecting 
matters  of  faith  are  taught  under  her  sanction  ;  so  that  those 
who  desire  guidance  are  driven  to  depend  on  self-chosen  teachers, 
who  profess  to  interpret  the  public  formularies  on  the  principles 
of  anti(]uity.  ‘  The  Thirteenth  Chapter  is  on — ‘  How  far  the 
Original  Principle  of  Subscription  to  the  Anglican  For¬ 
mularies  IS  compatible  with  the  Rule  of  Church  Autho¬ 
rity.'  A  new  bod}’,  equivalent  to  the  collective  Church,  was 
supposed  to  be  formed  of  the  English  bishops  by  the  Crown,  the 
CVown  thus  arrogating  to  itself  the  functions  of  St.  Peter's 
primacy,  on  the  lawfulness  of  which  arrogation  depend  all  the 
subsequent  changes  in  the  English  Church.  The  Fourteenth 
Chapter  examines  the  ARGUMENTS  WHICH  ARE  ALLEGED  IN 
DEFENCE  OF  THE  ANGLICAN  SYSTEM  OF  ClIURCII  AUTHORITY. 
In  this  examination  it  is  maintained  that  the  ancient  British 
Church  was  never  independent  of  Rome,  and  that  the  Greek 
Church  atibrds  no  justification  to  members  of  the  Church  of  Eng¬ 
land.  The  last  Chapter  exposes  the  results  of  the  Anglican 
SYSTEM  OF  Church  Authority.  Since  the  separation  of  Eng¬ 
land  there  have  ])een  three  dynasties — the  Tudors  were  despotic ; 
the  Stuarts  ruled  through  their  clergy,  the  Anglo-catholic  system 
being  dominant  till  it  fell  through  its  want  of  experience  ;  the 
Hanoverian  depended  on  Parliament,  and  private  judgment  was 
admitted  to  be  supreme.  Yet  the  clergy  are  still  bound  to  the 
ancient  oaths,  wliich  imply  the  existence  of  an  authority  iii 
matters  of  faith,  but  in  practice  every  one  interprets  the  Church  s 
words  for  himself,  even  as  respects  the  two  great  sacraments. 
The  like  confusion  prevailed  among  the  Donatists,  who  separated 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


749 


from  the  one  catliolic  body.  The  desire  for  unity  is  so  impaired, 
that  separation  from  the  State  would  hardly  supply  a  remedy. 
Nations  do  not  retrace  their  steps.  The  waves  of  time  do  not 
roll  backward. 

We  cannot  understand  the  intecjrity  of  Archdeacon  Wilber- 
force,  who,  on  the  day  when  he  received  the  first  proof  of  this 
entirely  popish  book,  ottered  to  put  himself  into  the  condition  of 
a  mere  lay  member  of  the  Church.  But  waving  this  personal 
matter,  we  must  express  our  surprise  that  all  this  had  not  long 
before  been  examined  at  Oxford,  and  compared  with  some  of  the 
innumerable  volumes  in  its  well-stored  libraries,  in  which  all 
these  arguments  in  defence  of  the  papal  su])remacv  have  been 
utterly  exploded.  Had  he  not  read  both  in  Catholic  and  Pro¬ 
testant  writers,  that  the  highest  dt'gree  of  faith  in  the  inspiration 
of  the  Scriptures  comes  from  that  personal  illumination  by  the 
spirit  of  God,  by  which  men's  minds  are  enlightened  and  renewed 
to  salvation  ?  Does  he  not  know  that  the  grounds  on  which 
most  readers  of  the  Scriptures  believe  them  to  be  inspired  are 
found  in  their  sublime  contents — their  holy,  humbling,  and 
authoritative  teaching — their  wonderful  system  of  ])rophecy — 
their  substantial  agreement,  though  written  by  se])arate  men  at 
long  intervals  of  time — and  the  power  which  tlieir  truths  have 
displayed  in  the  thoughts,  characters,  and  institutions  of  the 
whole  civilized  world  ?  Can  he  possilily  be  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that — while  the  testimonies  of  the  fathers  are  gladly  received  by 
all  Christians — as  those  of  Jews,  heretics,  and  unbelievers  are 
received — in  proof  of  the  public  reading  of  the  New  Testament 
in  the  early  ages,  our  belief  that  these  writings  are  of  God  results 
from  the  examination  of  the  writings  themselves,  and  from -our 
knowledge  of  their  history  ?  Besides,  it  must  be  known  to  all 
who  have  studied  these  matters  that  we  have  not  the  bare  state¬ 
ment  of  the  Church,  that  the  Scriptures  are  inspired,  but  all  the 
evidence  on  which  that  statement  wjis  ever  made  by  any  indi¬ 
vidual  or  any  assembly. 

The  object  of  all  this  vague  and  misguiding  reference  to  the 
Church  as  giving  authority  to  the  Scriptures  is  sufficiently 
trans])arent.  Perhaps  a  few  words  from  Archbishop  Jjaud, — 
no  ])articular  favourite  of  ours, — may  have  some  weight  with 
readers  who  would  receive  our  resxsonings  with  distrust.  In  tliat 
famous  archbishops  ‘Reply  to  Fisher,'  he  says: — ‘God’s  sjiirit 
alom  works  faith  and  belief  of  the  Scriptures,  and  their  divine 
authority  as  well  as  other  articles.  Tlie  credit  of  Scripture  to  be 
divine  resolves,  finally,  into  that  faith  whicli  we  liave  touching 
God  himself,  and  in  the  same  order.  For,  as  that,  so  this  hath 
three  main  grounds,  to  whicli  all  other  are  reducible.  The  first 
is,  the  tradition  of  the  Church  ;  and  this  leads  to  a  reverend(t) 
persuasion  of  it.  The  second  is  the  light  of  nature  ....  The 


750 


THE  CLERICAL  WILBERFORCE. 


third  is,  the  light  of  the  text  itself ^  in  conversing  whereicith  vjc 
meet  with  the  spirit  of  God,  inwardly  inclini)ig  our  hearts, 
and  sealing  the  full  assurance  of  the  suficiency  of  all  three 
unto  vs.  And  then,  and  not  before,  we  are  certain  thixt  the 
Scripture  is  the  word  of  God,  both  by  divine  and  by  infallible 
proof/  We  would  recommend  to  those  who  are  likely  to  be 
misled  by  Tractists,  or  by  Romanists,  to  read  this  pithy  ‘  Reply' 
for  a  vigorous  refutation  of  many  of  the  errors  to  which  these 
gentlemen  are  endeavouring  to  draw  us. 

We  must,  however,  take  leave  of  the  ci-devavft  archdeacon,  and 
pay  some  attention  to  the  report  in  the  ‘  Times,"  from  which  we 
have  made  an  extract.  Here  is  an  authoritative  judgment  on  the 
teaching  of  the  Church  of  England,  which,  as  we  understand  the 
words,  means  the  real  presence  of  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ  in 
the  sacrament — ‘  a  peculiar  and  supernatural  presence  of  Christ 
with  His  people  in  that  Holy  Sacrament;  that  in  it  He  does,  in  and 
by  the  reception  of  the  consecrated  atoms,  convey  to  the  faithful 
receiver  a  REAL  p(r^a/t/7?r/  q/*  if /s  body,  .and  His  Blood.'  The 
Zuinglian  explanation  of  the  Euchari.st  is  spoken  of  as  the 
Zuinglian  infidelity  ! — it  denies  that  the  body  of  Christ  is  really 
there  ;  and  the  Romanist  transformation  (a  word  which  does 
not  mean  the  same  thing  as  transuhstantiation,  where  the  form 
is  still  that  of  bread  and  wine)  of  the  bread  and  wine  into  flesh 
and  blood,  is  spoken  of  as  the  papal  solution  of  the  mystery, 
which  the  Church  condemns.  We  find  the  simple  facts  to  stand 
thus.  The  Articles  and  Homilies  on  one  side,  and  the  Liturgv  of 
the  Anglican  Church  on  the  other,  represent  the  views  of  d  ifferent 
parties;  and  the  teaching  of  the  Church  exhibits  a  similar  differ¬ 
ence,  according  to  the  leanings  of  the  teacher  towards  the  Roman 
or  the  8witz  elements,  which  it  was  the  policy  of  both  the  eccle¬ 
siastical  and  the  civil  ridel's  of  the  State  to  blend  in  the  Church 
of  England.  Hence  it  is,  that  in  the  Catechism  the  child  is 
taught  to  say,  that  the  ‘  inward  part  or  thing  signified  by  the 
bread  and  wine  i.s — the  body  and  blood  of  Christ,  which  are 
verily  and  indeed  taken  and  received  by  the  faithful  in  the 
Lord's  Supjier."  [In  the  Catechism  used  by  the  Protestant  Epis¬ 
copal  Church  in  the  United  States  of  America  the  answer  is — not 
*  verily  and  indeed,'  but  ^spiritually  taken  and  received."]  In 
the  ‘  Order  for  the  Administration  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  or  Holy 
Communion,"  the  priest  prays,  ‘  Grant  us,  gracious  Lord,  so  to 
eat  the  fesh  of  thy  dear  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  and  drink  His  blood, 
that  our  sinful  bodies  may  be  made  clean  by  His  body,  and  our 
souls  washed  througli  His  most  gracious  blood,  and  that  we  may 
ever  more  dwell  in  Him,  and  He  in  us."  If  these  words  are  used 
figunitively — as  our  Lord  is  believed  by  us  to  use  them,  we 
presume  the  words  of  the  Cateciiism,  and  of  the  Communioa 


THE  CLEUICAL  WILIJERFORCE.  751 

Service,  are  intended  to  be  explained  in  the  28th  Article  ‘of  onr 
Lord’s  Slipper.’  While  the  Article  teaches  that  the  hrcml  which 
we  u leak,  aiul  the  cup  of  blessiiic;’,  are  to  them  wlio  receive  tlieiu 
with  faith  a  ‘  partaking  of  the  body  and  the  blood  of  Clirist,'  and 
while  It  condemns  transubstantiation  as  ‘repugnant  to  the  iilaiii 
words  of  Scripture,'  it  adds— ‘The  body  of  C’hrist  is  given,  taken, 
and  eaten,  in  the  Supper,  onli/afterahcavenh/and  spintual 
onanner.  And  the  mean  whereby  the  body  of  Christ  is  received 
and  eaten  in  the  Supper  is— fait/!/ 

\\  e  can  scarcely  understand,  on  any  other  jiriaciple  than  that 
the  Article  was  designed  to  explain  the  language  of  the  Cate¬ 
chism,  and  the  ‘order  for  administration,'  how  these  apiiarent 
contradictions  should  be  allowed  to  exist.  In  the  Homily,  a 
Sermon  concerning  the  Sacrament,  which  is  a  noble  s])ecimeii  of 
English  preaching,  condemns  ‘inummish  massing,’  and  ‘dumb 
massing,'  and  uses  language  (piite  in  harmony  with  this  view. 
ISow,  It  must  be  acknowledged  that,  in  the  estimate  of  a  large 
portion  of  Anglican  divines,  tlie  doctrine  of  a  reed  presence  is 
taught — a  presence  not  corpovad^  yet  the  presence  of  a  hody^ 
but  in  a  spiritual  sense.  Dr.  Halley  has  shown  the  objectionable¬ 
ness  of  all  this  in  a  few  words  ‘  \Ve  have  already  seen  that  the 
presence  of  a  body  must  be  a  bodily  presence.  If  it  ha  present 
really,  it  is  present  locally.  Jf  it  be  not  present  locally,  it  is 
locally  alxsent,  and  therefore  really  and  truly  absent.  Jf  locally 
absent,  the  body  of  Christ  cannot  be  “verily  and  indeed  taken 
and  received  by  the  faithful  in  the  Lord’s  Su])pT."  The  defenders 
of  this  doctrine  may  say,  the  manner  of  Christ’s  j)rt*sence  is  mys¬ 
terious  and  inexplicable.  We  reply,  their  doctrine  is  not  to  be 
classed  among  mysteries.  In  a.sserting  the  real  presence  of  a 
body  which  is  locally  absent,  th(.*y  leave  the  region  of  mvstery  for 
that  of  logical  inconsistency.  ( ’onsubstantiation  is  mysterious  ; 
transubstiintiation  is  metaphysically  iiiipo.ssible  ;  but  the  real  j)re- 

sence  of  a  body,  corporeally,  and  therefore  locally,  absent,  is _ 

positive  contradiction'  (Halley  on  Sacraments,  vol.  ii.  p.  287). 

On  this  question,  then,  we  can  only  re|)eat,  that,  while  the 
Church  of  England  condemns  transubstantiation,  it  certainly 
does  teach  the  doctrine  of  the  real  j)resence,  to  wliich  the  simple 
objection  is,  that  it  cannot  be  true  because  it  contradicts  itself. 
That  Christ  is  spiritvally  present  with  believers  is  true ;  but 
that  His  body  is  really  present  is  not  true.  We  accept  the 
bishop’s  definition  of  the  teaching  of  the  English  C'hurch  • 
Init  we  reject  that  teaching.  And  we  reject  it  all  the  more 
for  the  easy  transition  which  has  been  made  by  so  many  of 
her  clergy,  including  the  (late)  archdeacon  of  the  East-Riding, 
from  the  physically  to  tlie  metaphysiadly  impossible.  Neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  can  be  the  meaning  of  the  Word  of  God. 


SJrttf  jfJntirrs. 


1. 


3. 

1. 


CONTENTS. 


i.  I’lictiral  Works  of  .John  OUlham. 

— ii.  Poetical  Works  of  KJnuind  Waller, 
i.  Nordurfari. — ii.  Lord  Cheaterlield :  his 
Life,  Character,  &c. 

Last  of  the  Old  Hquires. 

Shenstiitie’s  Ptadical  Works. 

(fovernini;  Classes  of  Great  Britain. 


6.  Experiences  of  a  Fag. 

7.  Autocracy  in  Poland  and  Russia. 

8.  Discourses  on  the  late  Rev.  R.  Wardlaw. 

9.  New  Testament  Commentary. 

10.  Painting  in  Water  Colours. 

11.  Israel  in  EgV'pt. 

1  12.  Miscellaneous. 


1.  Poviical  Jf'or/iS  of  John  Ohiham.  Edited  by  Robert  Bell.  Feap. 
8vo.  ])]).  207.  London  :  Jolin  AV.  Parker  Son. 

2.  Voctival  U^ork's  of  Kihmind  IVallcr.  Edited  by  Robert  Bell. 
Feap.  Svo.  j)p.  250.  Jjondon :  .lolin  W.  Parker  &  Son. 


AV"e  are  "lad  to  re])ort  the  steady  process  of  ]Mr.  Jkdl’s  ‘Annotated 
Edition  of  the  British  Poets.’  It  suj)plies  what  lias  lon^  been  need(‘d, 
in  a  style  of  editoi'sbip  highly  creditable  to  ^Ir.  lEdl.  Extensive 
researcdi,  a  diseriininatin"  judtfinent,  and  a  keen  relish  for  poetical  truth 
and  beauty,  distinguish  his  labors.  Occasional  errors  may,  no  doubt, 
be  detected,  but  we  should  readily  make  excuse  for  a  greater  number,  in 
consideration  of  the  value  of  the  lalxirs  rendei'cd,  and  of  the  vast  extent 
of  the  Held  cultivated. 

Few  names  connected  with  the  ])oetry  of  our  country  are  so  little 
known  as  that  of  .lohn  Oldham.  About  a  century  has  elapsed  since 
the  last  edition  of  Ids  poems  was  published,  and  to  the  present  genera¬ 
tion,  with  very  few  exceptions,  they  are  absolutely  unknown.  His 
subjects  were  tem])orary,  though  the  spirit  he  infused  into  their  treat- 
nunt  gives  them  permanent  value.  ‘His  satires  throw  a  Hood  of 
light  on  the  ])olities,  morals,  and  manners  of  the  Restoration,  and  are 
everywhere  marked  by  the  broad  hand  of  vigorous  and  original  genius.’ 
He  was  the  son  of  a  non-conformist  minister,  and,  though  yielding, 
unha})pily,  to  the  lieentiousness  of  his  age,  he  maintained  an  honorable 
sujieriority  to  the  meanness  and  servility  of  his  class.  His  poems  will 
never  be  popular,  but  all  who  are  interested  in  the  history  of  our  litera¬ 
ture  will  be  glad  to  possess  the  neat  and  portable  edition  which  Mr. 
Bell  has  sup])lied. 

'Fhe  second  volume  before  us  is  occupied  with  the  poems  of  Edmund 
Waller,  whose  genius  is  I’ar  more  creditable  than  his  ])olitieal  career.  It 
is  no  slight  excellence  that  ‘  his  verse  is  never  stained  with  a  vicious 
sentiment  or  a  licentious  image.’  Porrectness  is  the  prcMlominant  cha¬ 
racteristic  of  his  poetry.  His  versilication  is  smooth,  and  its  sweetness 
is  purchased  by  some  inversions  and  obscurity.  His  language,  how¬ 
ever,  is  always  pure  and  well  chosen.  ‘  Pope  estimated  it  so  highly 


L  '\4 


BRIEF  NOTICES.  753 

that  in  ]>lannin"  a  dictionary  tliat  should  he  an  authority  Tor  style,  ho 
selected  \\  aller  as  one  of  the  best  examples  of  jmetical  diction.* 
^1  houjjfh  better  known  than  Oldham,  aller  has  not  enough  of  strong 
feelini'  to  be  permanently  popular.  In  his  own  day  he  was  extensively 
read,  and  the  jK)sition  he  holds  in  the  history  of  onr  poetical  literature 
entitles  him  to  respectful  attention. 


1.  2sordu)'f(iri ;  or,  Rauihletf  in  Iceland.  Jly  l*liny  ]\Iiles.  l*ai*ts  1.  II. 

London  :  Longman  k  (*o. 

2.  Lord  Cltcsfer/icld :  Ins  Life,  Character,  and  Opinions;  and  George 

Sehcgn  :  his  Life  and  Times,  lly  A.  1 1  ay  ward,  Ksq.,  Q.(\  London  : 

Longman  A  Co. 

Tin:  former  of  these  works  is  the  production  of  an  American.  The 
]>refacc  is  dated  W  ashington  City,  .1  une  1  st,  1 S5 1 .  We  are  not  informed 
whether  it  has  jn-evionslv  appeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
We  conclude  not.  The  }>resent  is  apparently  the  original  edition. 
Whether  this  be  so  or  not,  however,  we  have  read  the  work  with  con¬ 
siderable  ])leasurc,  and  can  give  it  a  very  cordial  recommendation. 
Little  has  hitherto  lH‘cn  known  of  Iceland.  'Fhe  country  has  few 
attractions  for  our  tourists,  and  it  has  few  productions  to  give  interest 
to  the  narrative  of  a  visitor,  'i'he  object  of  this  work,  as  statetl  by  the 
author,  is  ‘  to  present  a  readable  and  truthiul  narrative,  and  to  en*ate 
some  interest  in  the  people,  the  literature,  and  the  productions  of  the 
lonely  i^^lc  of  the  north.’  Iceland  ‘presents  a  greater  array  of  remark¬ 
able  natural  jihenomena  than  can  be  1‘ound  throughout  the  whole 
extent  of  Europe  and  America.’  Its  length  is  about  2S()  miles,  and 
its  average  width  150.  It  is  nearly  as  large  as  the  State  of  New  York, 
containing  about  10,000  sejuare  miles.  Mr.  Miles  gives  a  highly  favor¬ 
able  view  of  its  inhabitants.  Though  laboring  \mder  great  physical 
disadvantages,  they  arc  said  to  he  ‘  more  contented,  moral,  and  reli¬ 
gious,’  to  ‘])ossess  gr(‘ater  attachment  to  country,  arc  less  given  to. 
crime  and  altercation,  ami  show  greater  hospitality  to  strangers,  than 
any  other  people  the  sun  shines  upon.’  ‘  Nordurl’ari’  may  he  strongly 
recommended  to  all  who  are  desirous  of  enlarging  their  knowh‘dge  of 
the  human  family,  by  acquainting  themselves  witli  the  condition,  cha¬ 
racter,  and  habits  of  a  j>eople  who  are  supposed  to  want  many  of  the 
prime  elements  of  human  happiness.  It  is  written  in  a  sprightly,  off¬ 
hand  style,  with  a  diu^h  of  Americanism,  which  improves  rather  than 
otherwise  the  llavor  of  the  dish. 

The  second  of  these  ])ublieations,  constituting  the  seventieth  numlnT 
of  the  ‘  Traveller’s  Library,’  is  reprinted  ‘  with  a  few  alterations  and 
corrections,’  from  the  ‘  Edinburgh  Review.’  It  cannot  fail  to  interest 
an  intelligent  reader,  though  we  should  have  Irmmi  glad  if  a  severer 
tone  of  criticism  had  been  exercised  on  the  moral  attributes  of  the 
career  of  Chesterlicld  and  Selwyn.  Full  justice  may  Ik;  done  to  their 
better  (jualities,  without  any  relaxation  of  a  code  whose  maintenance  is 
essential  to  the  healthfulness  and  wellare  of  society. 


N.  S. — VOL.  VIII. 


•  n  f.  ....  «  I  ' 


754 


BRIEF  NOTICES. 


The  Last  of  the  Old  Squires.  A  Sketch.  By  Cediic  Oklacre,  Esq., 
of  Sax-Normanbury.  Sometime  of  Christ  Church,  Oxon.  London: 
LoiiL'man  &  Co. 

This  volume  must  not  he  confounded  with  the  ordinary  novel.  It 
has  sonu*  features  in  common  with  it,  hut  there  are  points  of  ditference 
too  obvious  to  he  overlooked.  Though  a  liction  in  form,  there  is  a 
g(K)d  deal  of  reality,  we  are  told,  in  its  suhstance.  ‘  It  contains,’  savs 
the  author,  ‘  the  reminiscences  of  years  gone  hy, — of  several  high-bred 
country  scpiires, — and  of  one  excellent  country  gentleman  in  particular.’ 
There  is  very  much  in  the  volume  which  has  pleased  us.  It  is  written 
in  an  amiable  temper,  and  is  pervaded  hy  a  sympathy  with  whatever 
is  human,  which  cannot  he  too  highly  admired.  To  this  latter  ijuality 
one  i‘xce])tion  must  he  admitted.  We  refer  to  the  ‘  hedge-})reachers,’ 
described  in  Chapter  IX.,  in  a  style  worthy  of  the  lowest  prejudice  and 
the  most  hitter  spleen.  If  this  chapter  he  intended  to  describe  merely 
the  feeling  extensivel}"  prevalent  amongst  the  squirearchy,  at  no  ver}' 
remote  day,  we  have  nothing  to  object.  In  this  view  it  is  jwohahly 
a  coiTcct  ])ortraiture,  hut  in  such  case,  other  features  of  the  ‘  Last  of 
the  Old  Squires’  should  have  l)een  somewhat  shaded,  so  as  to  have 
preserved  the  harmony  of  the  whole.  In  all  other  respects,  the  hero 
of  the  volume  is  a  pt'rfeet  model ; — too  much  so,  we  fear,  for  this  inquT- 
fect  state.  It  is  this  iact  which  gives  force  to  the  caricature  to  which 
we  have  referred,  and  the  discrej)ancy  sensibly  mars  the  consistency  of 
the  whole.  The  state  of  society  described  throughout  the  volume  has 
some  ]>oints  of  deep  interest,  to  which  we  always  revert  with  ])leasure. 
It  is  matter  of  regret  th:\t  it  shoidd  he  dying  out,  and  we  receive  with 
thankfulness  any  well  executed  attempt  to  retain  its  features  in  our 
knowk^lge.  On  this  account  we  tender  our  thanks  to  the  author  of 
this  volume,  the  modern-anti<iue  ty})ography  of  which  will  he  pleas¬ 
ing  to  many  readers. 

Thid  Poetical  JVorks  of  William  Shemtone.  With  Life,  Critical  Dis¬ 
sertation,  and  Ex])lanatorv  Notes.  By  the  Kev.  Oeorge  Gillillan. 
8vo.  pp.  2S4.  Edinburgh  :  James  Nichol. 

SiiKNsTO'E  does  not  rank  high  amongst  our  hards,  llis  productions 
are  little  known,  and  with  the  exception  of  the  ‘  Schoolmistress’  and 
the  ‘  Pastoral  Ballad,’  have  little  claim  to  the  honors  of  song.  He  was 
born  on  the  18th  November,  1713,  and  died  on  the  11th  of  February, 
17(»3.  His  ])ersonal  character  ‘was  rather  passively  amiable  than 
actively  virtuous.’  His  habits  were  those  of  an  indolent  man  of  culti- 
vaU‘d  ta.ste ;  and  the  limited  independence  which  he  inherited  deprived 
him  of  the  ordinary  motives  to  exertion.  His  poetry  is  for  the  most 
])ai*t  feeble  and  commoiqJaee,  and  his  prose  compositions  evince  the 
({uerulousivess  of  a  man  who  was  dissatistied  with  his  own  pursuits,  and 
ileemeil  himself  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than  befel  him.  Mr.  (rillillan’s 
brief  sketch  of  his  life  and  poetry  does  full  justice  to  his  merits  without 
claiming  for  him  higher  praise  than  those  merits  deserve.  ‘  Although 
possessed,’  he  says,  ‘  of  great  accomplishments,  much  true  talent,  and 
a  distinct  although  narrow  vein  of  poetic  genius,  he  has  done  little. 


/ 


BRIEF  NOTICES.  755 

H  is  life  was  uneasy,  uncertain,  and  in  a  ^reat  dt'j^ree  useless.  Ho 
never  understood,  and  therefore  never  did  his  work  as  a  man.  He  first 
found  and  then  forgot  and  abandoned  the  sole  path  as  a  poet,  which  his 
genius  was  (pialilled  ])rolitahly  to  pursue.’  Mr.  (riltillan’s  edition  of 
his  poems  is  beautifully  and  correctly  printed  in  the  same  style  ;is  its 
j)rcdecessors.  With  this  volume  the  publisher  has  issued  a  cancel  for 
pai^es  iSd  and  iS  t  of  the  second  volume  of  Ihitler’s  works,  in  the 
former  of  which  some  errors  have  occurred  through  ‘  one  of  those 
untoward  accidents  which  occasionally  take  place  in  defiance  of  all  the 
care  which  can  be  exercised  in  securing  the  accuracy  of  a  work  while 
passing  through  the  jircss.’  The  course  ailopted  by  Mr.  Nichol  in  this 
matter  is  highly  honorable,  and  must  serve  to  assure  his  subscribers 
that  no  pains  will  be  spared  to  secure  the  accuracy  of  the  text  of  this 
edition. 

The  Govern  in  f/  Classes  of  Great  Jiritain :  Political  Portraits.  By 
Edward  M.  Whitty.  Ecap.  Svo.  pp.  218.  London  :  Trilbiier  &  Co. 

Tins  small  volume  contains  nineteen  sketches,  which  appeared,  origi¬ 
nally,  in  the  ‘Leader’  newsj)aper.  Each  sketch  ‘is  the  attempted 
j)ortrait  of  an  individual  representing  a  class  within  the  governing 
class.’  ’fhe  papers  are  clever  and  racy,  with  a  good  th'al  of  point :  but 
they  are  at  the  same  time  caustic  and  crotchetty.  d’hey  an*  written 
in  a  dashing  otf-hand  style,  better  suited  to  the  columns  of  a  newspaper 
than  to  a  more  ))ermanent  record.  The  impression  of  the  moment  is 
the  end  obviously  sought,  and  to  this,  other  juir])oses  of  far  higher 
worth  are  sacrificed.  Some  of  the  sketches  are,  we  think,  greatly 
wanting  in  discrimination  and  candor,  whilst  others  savor  of  a  low 
moral  tone,  which  we  should  be  .sorry  to  attribute  to  the  author.  On 
the  whole,  we  do  not  think  that  such  sketches  are  adapted  to  advance 
sound  political  knowledge,  or  to  promote  a  kind  and  intelligent  under- 
.standing  amongst  the  several  classes  of  the  community. 


School  E.rperienccs  of  a  Fag  at  a  Public  and  a  Private  School.  By 
George  Melly.  Post  Svo.  pp.  dll.  London  :  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co. 

This  volume  luis  evidently  grown  out  of  the  abuses  of  monitorial  ])()wcr 
recently  made  public,  it  is  written  with  considerable  skill,  in  a  vivacious 
style,  and  with  warm  attachments.  We  sympathize  with  many  of  its 
sentiments,  and  specially  admire  the  warm  buoyant  spirit  which  jxjrvades 
it.  It  is,  however,  a  one-sided  view  of  the  question  it  ])rofesse8  to  dis¬ 
cuss,  in  which  all  the  writer’s  sympathies  are  evidently  with  the  public 
school,  while  his  anti|)athies  are  violently  arrayed  against  such  as  arc 
termed  private.  Under  a  fictitious  form,  he  professes  to  give  the  expe¬ 
rience  of  a  lad  at  both  these  establishments,  hut  no  such  school  as  that 
of  Weston,  ])resided  over  by  Mr.  Wentworth,  ever  came  under  our 
notice,  whilst  the  worst  features  of  Jlarbg  are  concealed  or  glosse<l 
over  in  a  manner  which  betokens  a  j)rcdetermi nation  to  approve.  The 
book  supplies  some  plea.sant  reading,  but  contributes  nothing  to  the 
solution  of  a  question  on  w’hich  the  ])ublic  judgment  is  now  exercised. 

3  c  2 


•  i- 


756 


BRIEF  NOTICES. 


Autocracy  in  Poland  and  Russia  ;  or,  a  Description  of  Russian  Misrule 
in  Poland^  and  an  Account  of  the  Surveillance  of  Russian  Spies  at 
Home  and  Abroad,  including  the  Experience  of  an  Exile.  By 
Julian  Allen.  New  York  :  John  Wiley.  1851?. 

The  author  of  this  volume  is  a  Pole,  who  in  ISil  was  a  student  at 
the  College  of  Grodno  in  Poland,  where  he  joiiu?d  a  secret  societ}*, 
which,  in  18  B>,  was  to  co-operate  with  the  rising  at  Cracow.  The 
scheme  was  detected,  .and  the  young  conspirator  had  to  llee,  in  order 
to  avoid  ])rison,  or  involuntary  military  servitude  in  the  Caucasus. 
He  succeeded  in  crossing  the  German  frontiers,  and  reaching  a  ship 
hound  for  Engl.and,  whence  he  emigrated  to  the  United  States  of 
America.  ‘  His  feelings,’  he  s.ays,  ‘  his  hopes  and  prospects,  are  identified 
with  the  interests  of  his  adopted  country,  hut  his  heart  still  yearns 
towards  the  loved  ones  of  another  land.’  The  j)resent  volume  is  an 
ertiision  of  these  feelings.  The  author  wishes  to  ‘  call  the  attention 
of  the  j)uhlic  to  the  condition  of  Russian  political  slavery,  and  to 
awaken  the  sym})athies  of  enlightened  ])hilanthropy.’  He  gives  an 
interesting  account  of  the  peasants  in  Poland,  of  their  cabins,  their 
outfit,  their  manner  of  living,  their  fairs,  holida3's,  marriage  and 
funeral  certMnonies ;  of  the  condition  of  the  Jews,  of  the  soldiers  and 
Polish  landed  proprietors,  and  winds  up  with  a  com})ilation  of  Polish 
and  Russian  history,  in  which  biographical  sketches  and  anecdotes 
are  to  make  up  for  depth  and  originalitv\ 


Discourses  and  Services  on  occasion  of  the  Death  of  the  late  Rev.  Ralph 

IVardlaiv,  D.D.  London,  Edinburgh,  llublin  :  A.  Fullerton  Co. 

1S51. 

It  is  due  to  the  parties  concerned  in  this  publication  to  s.a\'  that  we 
received  and  noticed  it  several  months  ago.  We  fear  that  the  notice 
]>erished  in  a  fire  at  our  printers’.  The  Address  at  the  Funeral  b\' 
Professor  Thomson  is  a  calm  expression  of  dignified  sorrow  natural 
to  the  occasion.  Dr.  John  Brown’s  Discourse  on  the  Aged  Minister’s 
Resolutions  in  the  Prospect  of  Death,  based  on  2  Peter  i.  12-21,  is  such 
an  exposition  iis  would  be  expected  from  so  great  a  master,  with  a  brief 
reference,  chastely  expressed,  to  the  decease  of  the  honoured  pastor, 
whom  he  had  known  and  loved  for  many  years.  What  we  in  England 
call  ‘  The  Funeral  Sermon,’  b)'  Dr.  Alexander,  on  *  Elisha’s  Cry  after 
Elijah,’  contains  a  finely-wrought  picture  of  his  departed  friend’s  out¬ 
ward  life,  and  a  discriminating  anal>'sis  of  his  intellectual  powers  and 
tastes,  his  Christian  character,  and  his  eminent  qualifications  as  a 
preacher,  pastor,  professor,  and  writer — forbcjiring  to  speak  of  his 
‘  private  and  domestic  relations,  deeming  that  a  sphere  too  sacred  at 
this  sciisoii  of  recent  sorrow  to  be  invaded  in  the  presence  of  a  public 
iissembly,  with  however  reverent  a  stej),’  but  simply  stating  that  ‘  in 
all  the  private  relations  of  life  Dr.  Wardlaw  acquitted  himself  so  .as  to 
draw  around  him  the  strongest  ties  of  relative  affection  ;  that  he  grew 
old  amid  an  ever-deepening  tide  of  domestic  love  and  reverence ;  and 
that  he  carrieil  with  him  to  the  grave  as  liu*ge  a  share  of  veneration 


BRIEF  NOTICES.  757 

and  estooin  from  those  wlio  knew  liim  Iwst  as  can  he  expected  to 
hill  to  the  lot  ot  man  in  tliis  imperfect  state.’  The  llev.  Xorinun 
I^IcLeod  s  sermon  on  the  Xatnrc  of  Future  Happiness  is  an  intercstinif 
description  ot  that  happiness  as  satisfyiinj^  the  sensitive,  intellectual, 
moral,  social,  and  iU'tivc  nature.  Dr.  Macfarlane’s  *  Trihute  to  Dr. 
\N  ardlaw  is  the  peroration  of  the  sermon  preached  hv  him  in  the  atter- 
noon  ot  tlie  day  alter  Dr.  Wardlaw’s  decease,  in  the  vacated  pulpit — a 
wann-ln  arted  and  eloquent  recapitulation  of  his  attractions  ;is  a  Chris¬ 
tian  in  his  various  em])loyments  iis  an  advocate,  expoiuuler,  critic, 
philosopher,  polemic,  ininishu*,  philanthropist,  citizen,  and  author.  It 
is  altogether  a  beautiful  and  instructive  volume,  worthy  of  the  excellent 
ministers  l)y  whom  it  has  heiMi  composed,  and  in  all  respects  appropriate 
to  the  occasion.  Many  of  our  rt‘;ulers  are  already  accpiainteil  with  it, 
an<l,  we  doubt  not,  will  justity  the  recommendation  which  we  sincerely 
tender  to  those  who  have  not  yet  possessed  themselves  of  it. 

The  Xew  Testament  Commentan/  and  Praifrr  Jiool\  Containini;f  an 
Fxposition  of  the  Xew  Testament,  with  Devotional  and  IVsM'tical 
IJcilections  and  Prayers,  for  tlicuse  of  Families,  after  the  ]dan  of  the 
Rev.  .Job  Orton,  S.’F.P.  Fdited  hy  the  Rev.  .loseph  Fletcher  of 
Christchurch.  To  he  conq)leted  in  twenty  monthly  parts.  (Parts 
11. — IV.)  London:  Tallent  Allen.  Fdinhur’^h  :  Menzu's. 

Mu.  Fi.ktciif.u  has  completed  here  his  Commentary  on  thetJospels  of 
Matthew  and  Mark.  We  are  ‘;lad  to  testify  that  he  h;us  fully  realized 
the  exi»eetations  awakened  hy  his  proposals,  and  has  sustaiiuMl  the  tone, 
both  intellectual  and  spiritual,  with  which  he  commenced.  We  shall 
"ladly  welcome  the  remainiiii'  portions,  under  the  lively  impression 
that  the  editor  is  enu:ai(ed  in  a  work  well  fitted  for  the  Fnj^lish  mind 
in  these  times,  and  one  for  which  we  doubt  not  many  will  j^lvc  thanks 
to  (lod  on  his  behalf  for  years  to  come. 


The  Theonj  and  Prarfice  of  landscape  Paintinr^  in  M  ater  Colours, 
Tllustr:ite<l  hy  a  series  of  twenty-four  desij^ns,  croloured  <lia;^rams,  and 
numerous  woodcuts,  duly.  l*art  II.  ]>p.  2d.  Hy  (I corj^e  Barnard. 
London:  William  S.  Orr  Sc  Co. 

The  desij'ii  of  this  work  is  to  present  students  with  a  clear  and  concise 
sketch  of  the  theory  and  practice  of  landscape*  painting,  ami  it  set‘ms 
well  carried  out.  This  we  mi^ht  expect  from  the  jwofessional  position 
of  the  author  at  Kuijhy  School,  as  wt‘ll  as  from  his  ]»rcviou.s  exj)ericnce 
in  art-litcraturc.  We  have  not  yet  received  the  tirst  ])art,  hut  in 
the  one  before  us  we  find  a  complete  explanation  of  ti'chnical  terms 
occurring  in  the  work,  a  description  of  the  rpialities  of  tho  various 
colours,  with  hints  on  the  choice  of  a  p:i})cr,  concludin*?  with  a  swtioii 
on  conq>osition,  in  which  some  ot  the  li*adin}^  |K>ints  ot  this  most 
important  subject  are  jmliciously  chosen  for  the  student’s  attention. 
The  illustrations  are  printed  from  the  chromatic  ]>roccss  by  Messrs. 
Leighton  Brothers,  and  are  beautiful  examples  ot  the  value  ot  that 
invention,  the  colouring  being  perfectly  clear  and  harmonious. 


. . .  tJ  •  I  <  “V  *'  i;  i  ,  •»  •  'C.  •  !  ’  I  I  .  .• 


/ 


D 


758  BRIEF  NOTICES. 

In  this  numl)er  we  have  a  strikiii"  instance  of  how  trifling  a  circum¬ 
stance  may  tend  to  form  an  artist’s  style. 

Rembrandt  is  specially  noted  for  his  treatment  of  shadow,  and  by  a 
large  and  well-graduated  miuss  of  shade,  frequently  caused  a  small 
amount  of  light  to  he  extremely  etteetive.  It  is  said  that  during  his 
early  youth  he  lived  in  a  windmill,  the  only  light  iwlinitted  to  the 
interior  of  which  came  through  a  small  up])er  window ;  and  thus  being 
left  to  study  the  eflect  of  this  concentrated  light,  he  ever  after  treated 
out-door  as  well  as  in-door  subjects  in  the  same  manner. 


Israel  in  ;  or,  The  Books  of  Genesis  and  Exodns,  illustrated 

hy  Existing  Monuments,  l^ost  8vo.  pp.  xxxi. — ^137.  London : 
Seeleys.  1851. 

This  work,  which  is  ]nihlished  anonymously,  we  imagine  to  he  from 
the  ])en  of  Dr.  Xolan,  author  of  ‘ 'Fhe  Egyptian  Chronology  Analysed, 
its  Theory  Developed  and  IVactically  Applied.’  The  author  states  that 
for  more  than  thirty  years  it  has  been  the  object  of  his  life  to  a})})ly 
Chanq)ollion’s  discovery  of  the  mode  of  reading  the  Egyptian  hiero¬ 
glyphic  inscrijdions  to  the  illustration  of  facts  stated  in  the  Lihle. 
Tlie  introduction  explains  the  mode  of  reading  the  hieroglyphics  in  a 
very  intelligible  manner ;  and  then  seven  cha])ters  are  devoted  to  the 
elucidation  of  dosi'ph  in  Egypt — The  Famine — Egypt  during  the 
Sojourn — The  King  that  knew  not  Jose})h — Closes  in  ^lidian — The 
Plagues  of  Egy})t — and  The  Exodus.  The  collateral  evidence  of  the 
ancient  Egyptian  monuments  is  skilfully  applied  to  the  Biblical  nar- 
rati\es  of  these  events,  and,  we  think,  with  most  satisfactory  results. 
The  writer  is  evidently  well  read  in  the  literature  of  his  subject,  both 
ancient  and  modern ;  and  we  believe  that  he  is  justified  in  saying, 

‘  These  contemporary  monuments  have  corrected  the  mistakes  and  mis¬ 
apprehensions  of  twenty-live  hundred  years.  They  have  restored  to 
significance  and  perfect  harmony  with  the  context  words  which,  in  the 
days  of  IHolcmy,  Epiphanes,  and  the  S(‘ptuagint,  were  mere  cahalisins.’ 
The  wood  engravings  are  sulliciently  numerous  to  enable  the  reader  to 
make  his  own  conqjarisons.  We  arc  far  from  thinking  that  the 
‘  reality  of  the  Bible  history’ — which  is,  of  course,  indispensable  to  the 
a\ithority  of  its  religious  teaching — needs  any  confirmation  from  these 
extrinsic  sources  ;  and  we  arc,  at  the  same  time,  equally  far  from  the 
opinion  of  those  who  deer}’  all  such  attempts  at  fully  establishing  the 
truth  of  the  Hebrew  histories  ;  hut  we  look  on  the  present  work  with 
considerable  favour,  and  recommend  it  a.s  sure  to  enrich  a  patient 
reader  with  many  coincidences  which  are  not  of  a  kind  to  have  been 
struck  out  by  the  mere  fancy  of  an  enthusiastic  hiblicist. 


Latincp  Gravimaticte  Budimenta,  Extracted  from  the  Complete 
Latin  Grammar,  with  Additional  Elucidations  for  the  Use  of 
Young  Beginners.  By  .John  William  Donaldson,  D.D.,  Head 
Master  of  Burv  School.  j)p.  7S.  London  :  5.  W.  Parker  &  Son. 
The  name  of  the  eminent  author  is  a  sufticient  guarantee  lor 


I 


REVIEW  OF  THE  MOXTH. 


759 


the  usefulness  of  this  abriil^einent.  As  notliini^  is  said  of  the  laws 
of  prosody,  while  the  cpiantity  of  the  verbs  and  some  i>f  the  nouns 
is  j^iven,  it  seems  to  us  that  it  would  save  some  #//deaniinijf  after¬ 
wards,  it,  in  a  hook  tor  ‘  youn^  beginners,’  tliis  praetiee  were  uniform. 
— The  YoHUtf  Scholar  a  Companion  to  the  I^itin  Accidence.  lh‘iu^  a 
copious  collection  of  very  easy  exercises,  on  an  improved  plan,  'i'o 
which  are  added  an  Introduction  on  Metliod,  Questions  on  the  Acci¬ 
dence,  and  a  \  ocahulary  of  Roots.  Designed  for  the  assistance  of 
Masters  of  the  Junior  Classes,  (rovcrnes.st‘s,  and  Ibipil  Tt‘achers.  l>y 
a  Master  in  a  Grammar  School,  pp.  112.  London:  lloulston 
Stoueman.  Well  adapted  to  the  object. —  The  Sea  If  Wd  Collector  s 
Ontde.  Containing  Plain  Instructions  for  tellectiuLi:  and  Preservin;^, 
and  a  list  of  all  the  known  speeics  and  lo<^*alitics  in  Great  Hritain.  Hy 
J.  Cocks,  ^1.]).,  Devonport.  pp.  120.  London:  Van  Voorst  Tliis 
little  handbook  will,  we  are  |>ersuaded,  be  very  acceptable  to  incipient 
alu^oloij^ists,  and  an  easy  introduction  to  the  lart^er  works  of  l)r.  Harvey. 
We  sliould  have  ^floated  over  sueli  :i  work  in  our  early  attempts  at 
this  fa-seinatiujuf  pui*suit.  Dr.  (\)eks  ri'ceived  a  silver  medal  from  the 
Ivoyal  Cornwall  Polytechnic  Institution,  for  three  volumes  imperial  folio 
containing  s|H*cimens  of  marine  al^a*. —  On  the  J*lain  Sif/n[/ication  of 
Scripture.  Showing  the  Orii^in  and  Intent  of  Pro|»hecy;  the  l*unish- 
inent  and  Overthrow  of  the  .lewish  Nations  for  their  Llohitrous  Pnie- 
tices ;  their  l*anlon,  ami  Suhs(*»pient  Restoration,  iis  set*n  by  .L)hn  in 
Revehition,  cha})ter  vii.  d,  1.  pp.  b‘J.  A  rambling  expression  of  va^xue 
opinions,  bearing,  more  or  less,  on  the  restoration  of  the  Jews  to  their 
own  land. — On  the  Lenson.'i  in  Prorerha.  Pive  Lirturcs.  Reinj^  the 
substance  of  Lectures  delivered  to  Voun'j^  Mtm’s  Societies,  at  Ports¬ 
mouth,  and  elsewhere.  Ry  Richaitl  (Micnevix  Tnmch,  R.D.,  V’iear 
of  Itclienstoke,  Hants,  pp.  12S.  London:  .1.  W.  ParktT  A  Son. 
The  varied  learninu^  and  cultivated  taste  of  Mr.  d'nMieh  are  hcTc  grace¬ 
fully  employed  on  a  curious  thtune.  on  which  it  would  have  Inm  «*asy 
for  him  to  enlari^e  with  ^reat  advantji^t'  to  the  n*;uler. — The  Shady 
Side;  oi\  Life  in  a  Country  Pa raomiye.  Ry  a  Pastor’s  Wife.  Second 
Kdition.  j)p.  d(»2.  London  :  Sampson  Jjow,  Son,  A  Co.  'rids  is  an 
American  p\d)lication,  which  we  havi*  ivad  with  pain.  We  should  laj 
sorrv  to  believe  that  it  is  true  ;  but  as  the  writer  says  it  /a*,  then  we 
must  hope  that  her  cx})osurc  of  American  Christians  will  do  j^ood.  It 
is  a  melancholy  talc ! 


ilrninu  nf  tljt  Jlloutli. 

i  « 


AUTIIEMIC  INTELLIGENCE  HAS  AT  LENGTH  HEEN  RECEIVED  OF 
THE  FATE  OF  Sill  .loilN  FraNKLIN  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  h  or 
several  years  piist  the  Rritish  public  have  been  di*eply  concerned  on 
this  point,  and  numerous  expeditions  have  proceeded  to  the  Arctic  S<*as 


-■if 


REVIEW  OF  THE  MONTH. 


ill  the  lio^ie  of  clearing  up  the  iny?ter3\  For  some  time  we  have  almost 
despaired  of  rescuing  our  countrymen ;  and  our  worst  fears  are  now 
confirmed.  On  the  22nd  Octtdier,  Dr.  Rae,  of  the  Hudson’s  Ray 
Company’s  Service,  landed  at  Deal,  and  immediately  proceeded  to  the 
Admiralty  to  lay  before  Sir  dames  Graham  the  melancholy  evidence  he 
had  obtained.  While  en^a^ed  in  completing  his  survey  of  the  western 
coast  of  Roothia,  he  obtained  information  from  the  Esquimaux,  that  in 
the  sjiring  of  1850  a  jiarty  of  white  men,  amounting  to  about  forty, 
were  seen  travellini^  southward  over  the  ice,  drasr^in^  a  boat  with  them. 
The  men  were  evidently  exhausted  and  short  of  provisions,  and  at  a 
later  jieriod  in  the  same  season,  the  bodies  of  about  thirty  men  were 
discovered  on  the  continent  and  five  on  an  adjacent  island.  This  is 
siqiposed  to  have  been  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Rack’s  Fish  River. 

‘  From  the  mutilated  state,’  says  Dr.  Rjie,  ‘  of  many  of  the  corpses 
and  the  contents  of  the  kettles,  it  is  evident  that  our  wretched 
countrymen  had  been  driven  to  the  last  resource — cannibalism — as  a 
means  of  jirolonging  existence.’  Dr.  Rae’s  Report  has  given  rise  to 
much  discussion,  but  its  main  features  are  unquestionably  entitled  to 
contidence.  Painful  as  the  truth  is,  we  are  glad  that  it  has  been 
ascertained.  The  fate  of  the  ‘  Erebus’  and  ‘  TeiTor’  must  now  be  con¬ 
sidered  as  certain,  and  as  siibseijuent  information  respecting  Ca])tain 
Collinson  of  the  ‘  Enterprise’  hius  lieen  received,  we  trust  there  will  be 
an  end  to  Arctic  expeditions,  save  in  the  case  to  which  we  shall 
presently  refer.  The  lives  of  our  brave  seamen — to  say  nothing  of 
the  expense  involved — are  too  valuable  to  be  risked  on  such  1‘ruitless 
missions.  The  character  of  the  Arctic  region  precludes  the  expecta¬ 
tion  of  commercial  advantage,  and  there  is,  therefore,  clearly,  no  end 
to  bo  gained  commensurate  with  the  risk  which  such  expeditions 
involve.  The  countrymen  of  Sir  John  Franklin  will  cherish  his 
memory  as  that  of  a  brave. and  fearless  seaman,  whose  tragical  fate 
may  operate  as  a  warning  to  others.  Whatever  nautical  skill  could 
accomplish  was  etlected  in  his  case,  but  causes  over  wliich  he  had  no 
control,  have  fatally  terminated  a  career  of  which  his  countrymen  will 
be  proud.  For  a  time  serious  ajqirehensions  were  entertained  resjiect- 
ing  Cajitain  Collinson,  and  it  was  at  once  determined  to  set  forth  two 
overland  expeditions, — the  one  in  boats  to  proceed  down  the  Mackenzie 
River  in  search  of  him,  and  the  other  in  canoes  down  Rack’s  Fish 
River,  to  make  further  iinjuiry  into  the  fate  of  Sir  John  Franklin’s 
crews.  The  ascertained  safety  of  Captain  Collinson  removes,  of  course, 

all  necessitv  for  the  former ;  but  the  latter  is  due  to  the  brave  men 

»  • 

whose  untimely  fate  we  deplore.  The  Hudson’s  Ray  Conqiany  was  to 
be  intrusted  with  both  thesi?  expeditions,  and  the  latter,  we  trust,  will  be 
prosecuted  with  the  promptitude  and  energy  for  which  the  occasion  calls. 

Most  of  our  rf.aders  .vrk  puorahly  aci^uainted  with  Christ’s 
Hospital,  an  etlucational  institute  founded  by  King  Edward  \T., 
in  1552.  The  total  number  educated  in  1853  was,  in  London — Ixiys, 
050;  and  at  Hertford — 150  boys,  and  70  girls.  The  institution  is 
jiopularly  known  as  the  Rlue-coat  School,  and  its  pupils  are  distinguished 
by  an  antique  style  of  dre.ss,  suitable,  it  may  be,  to  the  time  when  the 
school  was  founded,  but  ludicrously  dissimilar  from  our  present  fashion. 


! 


RFTN’IEW  OF  THE  MOXTH. 


Dr.  Jacol),  a  clerc^yman  of  the  Clniroh  of  Knp^lanil,  was  ret'cntly 
apimiiitiHl  iipjHT  grammar  injistcr,  aiul  soon  luvaino  sonsiblo  of  the  ]>re- 
valence  ot  vtM*y  serious  ilefeets  ]>oth  in  the  (vlueational  training,  and  in 
the  moral  eondition  ol  the  school.  These  were  souj^ht  to  he  coirt'ctetl, 
hut,  as  it  commonly  ha]>]>ens,  many  obstacles  wen*  eneo\mten*d,  until 
at  leiii^th  ho])e  itselt  he^an  to  despair.  Hatlled  in  his  etforts  to  accom¬ 
plish  hy  private  means  the  reforms  he  sought.  Dr.  Jacoh  hrony^ht  the 
state  ot  the  institution  before  the  governors,  in  a  .sermon  j)reaelu‘d  on 
the  27th  ot  Sejdemher  last,  d'he  tone  of  the  sermon  appears  to 
have  been  thoroui^hly  res]H‘etful  towards  the  <xovernors,  hut  some 
severe  retlections  were  passed  on  the  administration  of  the  school. 
When  it  is  rememhered  that  the  income  cxeeeds  000  yearly,  it 
does  certaiidy  a])pear  extraordinary  that  its  residts  shoidd  he  so  inade- 
(juate.  To  use  the  words  of  Mr.  M‘(Jeaehy  at  the  me»*tin^  of  the 
2lst,  it  has  ‘  neitluT  the  merits  of  the  old  j^rammar  schools,  in  which 
a  "ood  eliissieal  education  is  imparted,  nor  the  advantages  of  modern 
educational  institutions.’  To  this  stTinon  very  serious  exception  was 
taken  by  the  committee  of  almoners. — virtually  a  self-el(*eted  Ixxly,  who 
constitute  the  executive  of  the  hosj>ital.  d'hey  reported  to  the 
p)vernors,  expressint^  their  want  of  eonli(h‘nee  in  Dr.  .laeoh,  on  aeiMHint 
of  the  i^ross  indisen‘tion,  as  they  alh*i]^(*d,  of  which  he  had  Ix'cn  ^lilty, 
and  recommended  his  removal  from  the  head  mastt*rship.  This  oceurretl 
on  the  dlst  Oceoher,  and  an  adjourned  s]H‘eial  nu'etiiu' of  the  governors 
was  held  on  the  21st,  to  determine  whether  such  report  should  he 
rt'ceived  or  not.  An  amendment  was  immediately  moved,  to  the 
etiect  that  the  thanks  of  the  governors  he  presented  to  Dr.  .laeoh,  for  his 
sermon  jweaehed  before  them  on  St.  Matthew’s  Day.  A  prrttracted  and 
somewhat  animated  discussion  then  took  place.  The  Kev.  Dr.  M‘Xeile 
proposed  a  miHlium  course,  in  the  hop(‘  of  seeiirin;j^  a  p(*aeeful  termina¬ 
tion  of  the  contest.  ‘The  jwopost'd  amemlment,’  said  Dr.  M‘Xeile, 
‘dealt  to  the  committee  an  unmiti^ate(l  slaj)  in  the  face;  and  he,  while 
desiriiii^  that  they  shoidd  feel  the  jxisition  in  which  they  had  placed 
themselves,  wished  to  mitigate  the  blow.’  A  majority  of  the  nundinjif 
appeared  to  he  in  favor  of  the  suj^i'cstion,  hut  the  committee  of 
almoners  refused  to  aeipiiesce,  and  on  a  <livision  the  vote  of  thanks  to 
J)r.  .laeoh  was  carried  by  10(»  to  7 1.  W'l*  rejoice  in  this  triumph,  not 
merelv  as  sustaining  an  honest  man  in  the  ]mhlic  cx])ression  of  his 
convictions,  hut  also  as  affording  the  promise  of  reforms  which  shall 
render  this  important  institution  as  useful  as  it  is  wealthy.  X^o  in.sti- 
tution  of  the  kind  can  In'etlieiently  comlucted  by  a  eommittcM*.  The 
intelli;X^mce,  practical  wisdom,  .and  sound  schol.arship  of  an  exjxTienced 
master  are  reepdred,  and  when  these  are  combined  with  religious  <piali- 
tu‘s,  it  is  wise  and  will  he  lH*neticial  to  afford  to  such  mjister  am|)le 
scope.  Better  hazard  some  of  the  evils  of  absolutism  than  commit 
such  an  institution  to  the  obvious  incompetcncy  of  a  committee  of 
almoners.  Dr.  Jacoh  is  entitled  to  the  resptrt  .and  th.anksof  his  couii- 
trvmen  for  the  ])uhlic  stainl  he  has  made  against  the  arbitrary  ])ro- 
emlings  of  a  s<*lf-eleeted  lx)dy,  and  the  governors  have  ])roved  them.^elveH 
worthy  of  their  position,  hy  sustaining  him  in  the  fearless  enunciation  of 
what  he  deems  essential  to  the  moral  and  intelk*ctu.'d  welfare  of  the  school. 


j  •  »  ;  1 


REVIEW  OF  THE  MONTH. 


An  Anti-Slavery  Conference  is  to  re  held  in  London  on 
THE  29th  .and  30tu  instants,  and  we  regret  that  it  is  not  in  our 
power  to  furnish  any  report  of  tliis  meeting.  The  reason  is  obvious, 
but  we  are  so  deej)ly  interested  in  its  contemplated  object,  that  we 
cannot  refrain  from  adverting  to  it.  The  last  anti-slaverv  conven- 
tion,  which  was  held  in  1843,  referred  it  to  the  committee  of 
the  ‘British  and  Foreign  Anti-slaverv  Societv’  to  convene  anotlicr 
whenever  they  deemed  it  advisable.  Acting  on  this  authority,  the 
committee  have  taken  such  means  as  appeared  to  them  best  to  ascer¬ 
tain  tlie  views  of  their  friends,  and  as  the  result,  they  have  issued  a 
circular  inviting  the  attendance,  on  the  days  above  specified,  of  all  those 
who  are  interested  in  the  abolition  cause.  The  Conference  will  be 
constituted  on  the  following  principle,  which  we  have  long  been  accus¬ 
tomed  to  regard  in  the  light  of  an  axiom  : — ‘  That  for  a  man  to  hold  his 
fellow  man  as  property  “  is  a  sin  and  a  crime  before  God,”  and  there¬ 
fore  is  not  to  Ik?  defended  or  extenuated;  and  that  the  system  of 
slavery,  being  unchristian  in  character,  is  to  be  uncompromisingly 
ojiposed,  under  what  form  soever  it  exist,  and  its  immediate  extinction 
sought  by  the  employment  of  every  moral  and  pacific  means.’ 

Amongst  the  ])rincipal  subjects  to  be  submitted  to  the  Conference, 
wc  learn  that  the  I'ollowing  will  be  prominent : — The  present  i)osi- 
tion  of  the  anti-slavery  question  in  Great  Britain,  and  the  duty  of 
British  abolitionists  ;  the  results  of  emancipation  in  the  British  West 
India  colonies,  and  in  the  French  West  India  possessions  ;  the  pro¬ 
gress  of  the  cause  in  Holland,  and  in  other  countries  ;  the  slave-trade 
and  slavery  of  Cuba ;  the  Brazils  ;  American  slaveiy  ;  India  as  a 
sugar  and  a  cotton-growing  country  ;  the  development  of  free  labour  ; 
the  fugitive  slaves  in  Canada;  and  the  imj)ortance  of  elevating  the  free 
colore<l  people.  We  shall  In'  glad  to  report  next  month  the  attendance 
and  general  character  of  the  Conference.  At  present  we  content  our¬ 
selves  with  the  expression  of  a  Iiojk',  that  its  arrangements  may  be  as 
judicious,  and  its  attendance  as  large,  as  its  object  is  praiseworthy. 
The  j)resent  occupation  of  the  ])ublic  mind  with  another  subject  is 
unfavorable,  vet  we  cannot  doubt  that  much  will  be  done  in 
re-awakening  donnant  zeal,  and  in  giving  a  fresh  impulse  to  one  ot  the 
noblest  enterjirizes  in  which  human  philanthropy  can  engage.  \V  hat 
has  already  been  achieved  is  the  earnest  of  1‘uture  success,  and  we 
trust  the  time  is  not  distant  when  even  the  United  States,  wedded  as 
their  Government  at  present  is  to  this  diabolical  system,  will  slnike  off 
the  incubus  that  presses  so  heavily  upon  them.  The  integrity  of 
tlieir  political  conMeration  enforces  what  religious  obligation  impera¬ 
tively  demands. 

The  Spanish  Cortes  has  assemrled;  and  the  sj^ech  delivered  by 
the  Queen,  though  evidently  intended  as  a  concession,  will  win  little 
confidence.  We  have  no  faith  in  the  pleasure  professed,  and  lot)k  for¬ 
ward  to  the  future  with  some  serious  misgivings.  Her  Majesty  avows 
her  fidelity  to  her  j)ledge  of  the  25th  July,  and  her  ho^xi  that  past 
misfortunes  will  be  ‘  an  example  and  a  lesson’  for  the  new  political  life 
which  is  oj>ening  on  the  country.  ‘  Perhaps,’  she  says, — and  these 
words  iire  the  most  significant  part  of  her  speech — ‘  we  have  all  been 


REVIEW  OF  THE  I^rOXTH. 


(Iccoived.  For  the  future  let  all  use  ever}'  effort  to  succeed.  Such  is 
my  full  and  perfect  coiitidence  that  your  patriotism  and  your  endea¬ 
vours  will  be  as  ^reat  and  as  fniitlul  as  tlie  need  of  our  iH'lovtHl  Spain 
demands.  1  he  leadiiiiT  politicimis  ol  S[)ain  have  h)r  some  yt‘ars  past 
earneil  sucli  an  unenviable  rejmtation  that  we  have  no  faith  in  their 
patriotism.  As  a  class  they  art*  thorouj^hly  eorre.pt,  and  we  fear  there 
is  little  ])ros|K*ct  for  the  country  while  their  aseendaney  eontimies.  Wo 
trend)le  at  the  alternative,  but  we  much  feju'  that  until  new  blood  and 
nobler  principles  are  infused  into  the  effete  aristocracy  of  Spain  there 
is  no  hope  of  the  permanent  establi.shment  of  constitutionalism.  It  is 
much  to  be  deplored  that  a  country  wliose  natural  rcsouret's  an*  so 
j^reat,  and  whose  historical  associations  an*  of  the  hijj^hi*st  order,  should 
be  distracted  by  the  ]>ersonal  broils  and  selfish  intert*sts  of  a  class  whoso 
feebleness  and  vice  contrast  most  ])ainfully  with  the  m(*morii*s  of  an 
illustrious  a^e.  W(*  make  an  exception  in  tlie  ca.s(*  of  Marshal 
Ksparti'ro.  His  personal  intc^ity  is  beyond  (juestion,  but  his  ant-ece- 
dent.s  do  not  str(‘ni>d^hen  confidence  in  tlu*  vi^or  and  promptitude  of 
his  mcivsurcs.  On  the  -1st,  he  announced  to  the  Oortes  that  he  had 
accejitcd  the  ofiice  of  President  of  tlu*  (\)uncil,  with  the  full  deti*rmi- 
nation  of  layin*^  it  down  as  smm  as  that  body  assembled,  and  that  his 
ministry  was  therefore  about  to  resiijfn  in  order  that  the  <iueen  mi^ht 
be  at  full  liberty  to  choose  her  advisers.  ‘  He  also,’  says  the  tele¬ 
graphic  despatch,  ‘took  the  opportunity  to  declare  that  he  had  no 
other  desire  or  aspiration  than  to  live  as  a  simple  citizen  in  olH*dienco 
to  the  law.’  ^J’his  announcement  was  receiveil  with  loud  cheers.  We 
shall  be  glad  to  find  that  the  sagacity  of  the  Marshal  was  cipial  to  his 
disinterestedness.  We  have,  however,  our  fears ;  but  tlu*  thread  of 
Spanish  politics  is  so  entangl(*d,  and  the  ])rincipal  actors  an*  so  little 
trustworthy,  that  we  wait  the  course  of  events.  Political  ])roplu‘ey 
is  in  all  ca.st‘s  hazardous,  but  nev(‘r  so  much  so  as  in  the  case  of 
Spain. 

lx  OUII  L.VST  XIMBER  WK  VXXOUXrEI)  THi:  COM  Ml- XC’EM  ENT  OF  THE 
BOMUARDMEXT  OF  Sehastopoe.  This  occurn*d  on  the  17th  October, 
and  hopes  were  entertained  of  the  speedy  cajdurc  of  this  stronghold  of 
Kussian  ])ower.  ddiese  hopes  have  been  disappointed,  'flu*  strength 
of  the  fortilieations  has  hitherto  withstood  the  artillery  of  the  allied 
forces ;  and  as  the  numbi*r  of  the  latter  does  not  admit  of  the  (KJcupa- 
tion  of  the  northeni  side  of  the  city.  Prince  Menschikoff  is  able  to 
communicate  frtu?ly  with  the  garrison,  r(*inforcing  it  as  occasion 
reijuires,  and  sup]>lying  it,  if  ncc(‘ssary,  with  ammunition  and  food. 
The  slaughter  has  been  terrible.  N<*ver  was  such  au  array  of  destruc¬ 
tive  forces  brought  to  bear  on  a  city  In  fon*.  Whatever  military  skill 
and  personal  prowess  can  do  is  arrayed  against  the  fort,  whose  doomed 
citizens  and  soldiery  are  paying  a  terrible  jicnalty  for  the  ambition  of 
their  ruler.  In  the  mean  time  the  defence  is  maintained  with  the  utmost 
resolution,  ]^^o  sooner  does  the  artillerv’’  of  the  allies  silence  any  of  the 


in  his  despatch  of  Nov.  2iul,  ‘it  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  mon*  oosu- 
nate  defence.’  The  English  and  French  lines  are  gradually  approacli- 


764 


REVIEW  OF  THE  MONTH. 


in^  the  city,  and  the  setting  in  of  winter,  with  other  eauses,  will  pro¬ 
bably  induce  the  commanders  to  antici])ate  the  slower  prop^ress  of  a 
siege  by  a  general  assault.  We  tremble  in  the  anticipation  of  the 
slaughter  which  such  a  movement  will  involve.  Of  its  issue  we  do  not 
doubt.  What  has  already  occurred  phices  l)eyond  question  the  incal¬ 
culable  su])eriority  of  the  French  and  English  soldiery,  but  the  lives  of 
thousands  of  brave  troops  is  a  terrible  j)rice  to  pay  for  the  occupation 
of  a  j)lacc  which,  but  for  our  dilatoriness,  might  i)robably  have  birn 
secured  at  much  less  cost.  Indeed  it  is  obvious  to  remark  that  our 
measures  from  the  first  have  been  too  late.  In  sending  out  troops  to 
Turkey,  they  were  halted  at  Malta  on  the  2nd  March,  as  if  to  encourage 
the  Russians  to  cross  the  Danube  on  the  2drd ;  and  when  at  last  the 
rising  indignation  of  the  country  compelled  the  ministry  to  order  them 
forward,  they  were  detained  at  (Jalli|K)li,  the  farthe.st  })oint  from  the 
seat  of  war.  Now,  at  length,  that  the  Crimea  is  invaded  with  an 
appearance  of  determination  and  energy,  the  force  employed  is  far  too 
small  for  the  end  we  seek. 

The  victory  of  Alma,  and  the  subsequent  report  of  the  fall  of 
Sebastopol,  led  us  to  underrate  the  forces  of  llussia.  .  We  have  subse¬ 
quently  recovered  from  this  delusion,  but  there  is  danger  of  the  ])ublic 
mind  becoming  impatient  and  despondent.  The  Emperor  of  Kussia 
evidently  feels  the  urgency  of  the  crisis,  and  is  throwing  large  masses 
of  troops  into  the  Crimea.  The  Kussian  army  has  thus  been  swelled 
to  a  great  numerical  superiority ;  and  as  the  means  of  communication 
with  the  city  on  its  northern  side  are  perfectly  open,  a  course  of  con¬ 
certed  action  l>etween  the  garrison  and  the  ivlieving  army  has  been 
arranged.  The  allied  forces,  consequently,  whilst  besieging  the  city, 
are  themselves,  to  a  great  extent,  besieged  by  Prince  Mensehikoif. 
Their  position  and  fortifications  give  them,  it  is  true,  great  advantiige ; 
and  the  ])ossession  of  Balaklava  affords  much  facility  in  procuring 
ammunition  and  other  sup])lies.  In  the  meantime,  however,  their 
numbers  are  greatly  thinned  by  sickness,  and  their  strength  is  worn 
down  bv  constant  toil.  Encouraged  bv  this  state  of  things,  the  Kussian 
general  sought  to  fultil  his  threat  of  conq)eirmg  them  to  raise  tlie 
siege  and  to  re-embark  with  dishonor  and  loss.  His  word  has  been 
ph‘dged  to  drive  them  from  the  Crimea,  and  he  has  done  what 
the  means  at  his  command  enabled  him  to  do,  to  execute  it.  With 
what  residt,  the  battles  of  Balaklava  and  Inkermanu  show.  The 
former  occurred  on  the  25th  October,  and  was  followed  uj)  on  the 
following  day ;  and  the  latter  on  the  5th  of  last  month.  On  both 
occasions  the  brunt  of  the  attack  was  borne  by  the  British,  and  was 
re]>ulsed  with  immense  loss  on  the  part  of  the  Russians.  The  heights 
of  Alma  l>ore  witness  to  the  indomitable  couragt*  of  our  infantry,  and 
nothing  can  excml — nothing  has  ever  surpassed — the  bravery  of  our 
cavalry  at  Balaklava.  Lord  Raglan  tells  us — and  his  despatches  are 
distinguished  by  simplicity  and  the  absence  of  exaggeration — that  the 
charge  of  the  heavy  brigade  against  far  superior  numbers  ‘  was  one  of 
the  most  successful  1  ever  witnesstnl,  was  never  for  a  moment  doubtful, 
and  is  in  the  highest  degi*ee  creditable  to  Brigadier-General  Scimlett 
and  the  officers  and  men  engaged  in  it.’ 


REVIEW  OF  THE  MONTH. 


TOo 

Tho  pliiui^hter  of  the  li^ht  cavalrv  on  this  incinorahle  (K'casion, 
throiiprh  a  misapprehension  not  yet  cleared  up,  is  well  known,  ami  uni¬ 
versally  deplored.  Their  heroism,  thoui;h  not  their  success,  was  equal 
to  their  com|>eers’.  A  more  brilliant  ehai’^e  was  never  exeeutcil,  and 
we  are  p^lad  that  it  has  found  a  littin^  historian  in  one  of  the  c*orre- 
sjamdents  of  the  ‘  Times.’  The  resi)onsihility,  rest  where  it  may,  is 
terrible.  At  ])n.‘st*nt  we  are  without  the  means  of  ri^diteous  judi^nient, 
but  we  trust  that  a  searehiin^  impiiry  will  be  instituted.  One  tiling  sur¬ 
prises  us  in  the  battle  ol  Balaklava.  The  advanceof  the  ilussian  reinforce¬ 
ments  was  known.  The  ])resenee  of  a  large  body  of  these  troops  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  was  notorious,  and  yet  no  udequatif  provision 
seems  to  have  been  made  for  the  eontingt*ncy  which  arose.  We  feed 
that  it  is  a  hazardous  thing  for  civilians  to  eritiei.se  the  op(*rations 
of  war,  and  would,  therefore,  s|>eak  with  eon.siderable  hesitation.  Had 
the  measures  which  succeeded  the  assault  of  ldj)randi  preceded  it,  no 
such  iittiu*k  would  have  been  made,  or  if  it  Inul,  the  issue  must 
have  been  still  more  fatal  to  the  Uussian  army,  'rhere  is  one 
sentence  in  Lord  Ibiglan’s  despatch  of  Xovember  drd,  which  carries 
with  it,  to  our  aj>})rehension,  a  much  lai'ger  signitieanee  than  the  wonls 
themselves  imj)ort.  It  is  the  langiwge  of  a  l)rave  man,  aware  of  the 
dangers  of  his  position,  making  the  most  of  the  means  at  his  eommand, 
conscious  that  they  are  imuletjuate  to  the  oceiUsu)n,yet  too  self-respect¬ 
ful  and  high-minded  to  utter  the  language  of  complaint.  After 
detailing  the  measures  adopted  for  the  defence  of  Balaklava,  his  lord- 
ship  says,  addressing  the  ^linister  of  War — ‘  1  iciil  not  conceal  from 
your  (iracc^  that  I  should  be  more  satUfed  if  J  could  have  occupied  the 
2yosiiion  in  considerablif  greater  strength.'' 

After  the  defeat  of  (ieneral  Liprandi,  the  Russians  contented  them¬ 
selves  for  some  days  with  a  vigilant  observance  of  the  allied  forces, 
'fhe  double  di.scomliture  they  had  experienced,  chilled,  it  is  probable, 
the  ardor  of  their  troo[>s,  and  time  wiis  re(]uircd  to  prepare  them 
for  the  vet  more  threatening  attempt  of  tho  5th.  Large  Russian 
reinforcements  having  at  length  arrived,  with  two  ol'  tho  royal 
dukc‘s,  immense  forces,  undt*r  the  command  of  (Ieneral  Dannenberg, 
recently  arrived  from  Moldavia,  attacked  tho  right  of  tho  Knglisli 
]>osition  on  the  morning  of  the  5th.  This  position,  it  must  be  lx>rno 
in  mind,  was  tho  weakest  point  in  our  lines ;  — indeed,  it  is  dilfieult  to 
understand  tchg  it  had  not  been  greatly  strengthened.  Tho  French 
hastened  to  the  a.ssistancc  of  their  allies,  and  ‘  (Ieneral  Canrobert,’  says 
Lord  Raglan,  writing  on  tho  Gth,  ‘  immediately  came  to  the  K])ot,  ami 
gave  me  the  support  of  his  assistance,  and  of  his  excellent  counsel.’ 
The  battle  lasted  for  several  hours,  and  the  overwhelming  su|)eriority 
of  the  Russians — (>0,(X)0  to  11, (XX) — entailed  a  heavy  iH'iialty  on  tho 
victorious  army.  The  numlKT  of  tho  Russians  greatly  exceeded  thoK<; 
which  occupied  tho  heights  of  Alina,  and  the  loss  of  l>oth  parties  was 
fearful,  (ieneral  Cam ol>ert  deseril>es  tho  engagement  as  ‘  most  obsti¬ 
nate  and  bloody.’  The  English  batteries  were  taken  and  retaken 
several  times ;  but  at  length  tho  enemy  was  repulsed  with  frightful 
carnage.  The  Russian  loss  is  stated  by  Lord  Raglan,  in  his  despabdi 
of  tho  8th,  to  have  been  5(XX)  dead,  bt*side8  10,(XX)  wounde<l  and 


766 


S|i"i  iiriiiv.  Up  f„^..  ^"''"nwiiii  has  p-,r.,7v,  f  over 

pi  no  further'  atllnf,  'P'-  «e  «'>^“  the  Jh,.,- 

loam  that  IJ.ey  a  .  „  “  •’f  reinlb^en  r^l ‘"'‘ 

prilm-J  to  file  fvlloe""*  ellorts^*^  Lt^e 'l''  to  fl.e 

.instantly  l-ollnn^^i  hv  Vf ’n  lx-  ''hd  ”(  « ‘  T  ^''onps  are 

Ueomm  •  r  i-  t'>«t  tl.evC 

’"‘"H'diate  atWitinnf  Jo  Tj!"'  ';'''"“'‘ity\rill  t 
t  he  arrival  of  tj.ese  Z'  t  to  PZ<^»^nltvd  i,y  a„ 

^'*7^  sneh  a  ehan«t>  i„  t'|''“'’T"!"'tS  "e  han>  reaso  ann,-. 

enable  Lord  Ita.Hf^  ‘  position  of  th  T  ’'‘^^''•^ve,  will 

.lected  assault  wUh  <sreiteT  B""'''  “ttensive  aL^t  “ 

and  to  sen,,  meurt"  °PeratioSi‘;‘* 

^  ‘U-Jiaiiient  meets  for  ‘S‘^nst  iiessarabia, 

esi>ateh  ot  business  on  the  12th  December. 

In  .r,dv  las  1>0STSC1{I1‘T. 

arc  Lilly  justifying 


1 


LITERARY  INTELUGENCE. 


767 


the  terms  111  wliicli  ttie  emiiioiit  (jiuililiciitioiis  of  tlio  future  eilitor  wore 
cliiii  tietei  izecl.  llie  renders  ol  tlie  ^  Jiieleetie*  will  1k'  deeply  ii^cvod  to 
learn  the  cause  to  which  they  owe  the  disappointment  of  these  expec¬ 
tations.  Ihis  shall  he  stated  in  the  followiiiii^  extract  from  a  letter 
addressed  by  Dr.  Harris  to  Dr.  IViee:— ‘1  am  grieved  to  decline  the 
post  which  1  had  hojx'd  to  till ;  hut  1  have  rejuson  to  believe,  what  I 
ought  to  have  suspected,  that  in  thinking  of  the  Kditoi-ship  I  wjvs 
overrating  both  my  leisure  and  my  health ;  and  on  returning  from  a 
short  tour  in  a  state  ol  considerable  languor,  the  representations  of  my 
medical  adviser  corroborate  my  own  conviction,  that  1  am  acting 
wisely  in  desisting  from  the  undertaking.’  The  state  of  Dr.  Harris’s 
health  has,  of  course,  necessitated  other  arrangements  for  the  future 
conduct  ol  the  Ileview.  The  nature  ol  these  will  Ihj  learned  from  an 
Address  to  the  ‘Subscribers  to  the  Eclectic,’  which  will  be  found  in 
our  advertising  columns,  and  to  which  the  attention  of  the  rcatler  is 
invited. 


I'itfrarii  9iitrlligrnrr. 


Just  Published. 

The  Suhjccl-inaltcr  of  a  Course  of  Ten  Lcclun's  ou  some  of  the  Arts  con¬ 
nected  witli  Organic  Clicniistrv.  Deliven'd  before  tlie  Mendiers  of  the  Uojal 
Institution  in  tlie  Spring  of  IS51;?.  Hy  William  Thoma.H  Braude.  Arranged, 
by  permission,  from  the  Lecturer’s  Notes,  lent  for  the  occjision.  Jly 
.1.  Scollern,  M.B. 

Divine  Bevelation;  its  Evidences,  External,  Internal,  and  Collateral;  together 
with  its  Canonical  Authoritvand  I Menary  Inspiration.  By  Daniel  Dewar,  D.D., 
LL.D.  Second  Edition,  enlarged. 

The  Violet’s  Close;  or,  Annie  Dale.  A  Companion  to  the  iiedeemed  Uosc; 
or,  Willie’s  Best.  Bv  Eliza  Bumsey. 

Sennons  on  the  i'irst  Epistle  of  J’eter.  JW  II.  E.  Kohlbriigge,  D.D. 
Translated  from  the  (lennan. 

The  Census  of  Creat  Jlritain  in  IS.H.  f’oinprising  an  Account  of  the 
Numbers  and  Distribution  of  the  IVople,  their  Agi*s,  (kinjugal  Condition, 
Oceupathnis,  and  Ihrthnlace,  iVre.  And  an  Analytical  Index. 

The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake.  By  Thomas  Lowe. 

Hints  on  Study.  By  the  Bev.  Thom;us  Light  body. 

Gethsemane.  Lectures  delivered  in  the  Lock  Cha|M*l  in  Lent,  1S5L  By  th  c 
Rev.  Capel  Molymuix,  B.A. 

The  British  Commonwealth;  or,  a  (.’ommentary  on  the  Institutions  and  Prin¬ 
ciples  of  British  Govenimeiit.  Bv  Homersham  (’ox,  .VI. A. 

Life,  Beligious  Opinions,  and  Experience  of  Madame  de  la  MotheCjuyon; 
tof»>ether  with  some  .\ccount  of  the  Personal  History  and  Beligious  Oinnioiw  of 
EtMielon,  .Vrchbisho])  of  Candiray.  By  Thomas  C.  Upham.  Edited  and 
revised  bv  a  Clergyman  of  the  Chureh  of  England. 

The  Author.  A"  Poem  in  Eour  Book.s. 

The  Christian  Diadem.  A  Scries  of  Essays,  Doctrinal  and  Devotional.  First 

Series.  m  , 

Sacred  Studies;  or,  ^Vids  to  the  Development  of  Truth.  A  Second  and 


76S 


LITERARY  INTELLIGENCE. 


Edition  of  Discourses  on  important  Subjects.  By  the  Rev.  Robert 
Eerjjuson,  LL.D.,  F.S.A. 

Contributions  towards  a  llistorv  of  Biblical  Translations  in  India.  (Reprinted 
fnmi  the  ‘Calcutta  Christian  Observer.’) 

The  Flower  of  the  Family.  A  Tale. 

The  riiilosophy  of  the  Infinite.  With  sneeial  reference  to  the  Theories  of 
Sir  William  Hamilton  and  M.  Cousin.  By  ilenrv  Calderwood. 

Theolof^y  and  Theologians.  An  Essay.  By  Charles  Wills,  M.A. 

An  Account  of  the  Brinted  Text  of  the  Greek  New  Testament.  With 
Remarks  on  its  Revision  uimn  Critical  Principles;  together  with  a  Collation  of 
the  Critical  Texts  of  Griesbaeh,  Scholz,  Lachmann,  and  Tischendorf,  with  that 
in  common  use.  By  Samuel  Pridcaux  Tregclles,  LL.D. 

Scenes  of  the  Bible;  or,  Scripture  Sketches.  By  Rev.  Win.  Clarkson. 
Evenings  with  the  Prophets.  A  Scries  of  Memoirs  and  Meditations.  By 
Rev.  A.  Morton  Brown,  LL.D. 

‘  The  Coming  Man ;’  or,  the  True  Deliverer.  By  Rev.  George  Henry 
Davis. 

Philosophy  at  the  Foot  of  the  Cross.  By  James  Augustus  St.  John. 

The  Outlines  of  Theology;  or,  the  General  I’rineiples  of  Revealed  Religion 
Briefly  Stated.  Designed  for  the  Use  of  Families  and  Students  in  Divinitv. 
By  H(‘v.  James  Clark.  Vol.  1. 

'riie  Manse  of  Sunny  Side;  or.  Trials  of  a  Ministers  Family. 

The  ('odex  Mont  fort  ianus.  A  Collation  of  the  celebrated  MSS.  in  the 
IJbrary  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  By  Orlando  T.  Dobbin,  LL.D.,  ike.  ' 

Our  Friends  in  Heaven;  or,  the  Mutual  Recognition  of  the  Redeemed  in 
Glory  demonstrated.  By  Rev.  J.  M.  Killen,  M.A. 

TVutirs  Contlicts  and  Truth’s  Triumphs;  or,  the  Seven-headed  Serpent 
Slain. 

A  Series  of  Essavs,  with  an  Allegorical  Introduction  on  some  Chief  Errors  of 
the  Day.  By  Stcplien  Jenner,  ^l.A. 

Institutes  of  Metaphysic.  The  Theory  of  Knowing  and  Being,  l^y  James 
F.  Ferrier,  A.B. 

Historic  Notes  on  the  Books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament.  By  Samuel 
Sharpe. 

Mornings  with  Jesus.  A  Series  of  Devotional  Readings  for  the  Closet  and 
the  Family.  By  the  late  Rev.  William  Jay  of  Bath. 

Turkey,  its  History  and  Progress.  From  the  Journals  and  Corresi)ondence 
of  Sir  .lames  Porter,  Fifteen  Years  Ambassador  at  Constantinople,  continued  to 
the  Present  Time.  AVith  a  Memoir  of  Sir  James  Porter.  By  his  Grandson, 
Sir  George  Larpent,  Ihu  t,  Ac.  2  Vols. 

The  Public  Pearl;  or.  Education  the  People’s  Right,  and  a  Nation’s  Glory. 
In  'Pwo  Popular  Lectures  on  State  Interference,  and  in  Three  Letters  to 
liord  John  Russell.  Dedicated,  by  permission,  to  Lady  John  Russell.  By 
Celat  us. 

Robespierre,  a  Tragedy.  By  Henry  Bliss,  one  of  Her  !Majestv’s  Consuls. 
Tales  of  the  Desert  and  the  Bush.  From  the  German  of  I'redcrick  Gers- 
tiieker. 

School  Series.  Edited  by  the  Rev.  G.  R.  Gleig,  M.A.,  viz.;  My  Second 
Book,  to  Teach  me  Reading  and  Spelling.  By  Av  alter  McLeod,  F.R.G.S. — 
Light  and  Heat,  for  the  use  of  Bcirinners.  fey  Thomas  Tate,  F.R.A.S. — 
Magnetism,  Wdtaie  Eleetricitv,  and  Electro-Dvnamics,  for  the  use  of  Beginners. 
By  Thomas  Tate,  F  R.A.S. 

‘  Peace  where  there  is  no  Peace;’  or,  the  Dies  Non  at  Sydenham.  AAYth  a 
Glance  at  the  Sundav  Life  of  the  Homeless  in  London. 

Plato,  as  Read  in 'English.  By  an  Englishman.  Being  an  Address  to  some 
Friends.  ( 


INDEX 


VOL.  VIII.  NEW  SERIES. 


Aecidetif.^  in  Coal  102;  oausos, 

of,  1011;  safety  lamps,  100;  ventila¬ 
tion  of  mines,  2DI. 

Alexander,  AV.  L.,  Christ  and,  Chris- 
tianifi/^  102. 

Alison,  Sir  A.,  History  of  Europe  from 
the  Fall  of  Napoleon  in  1815  to  the 
Aceession  of  Jjonis  Napoleon  in  1852, 
58;  Spain  under  Ferdinand,  00; 
his  perfidy^  02  ;  the  Holy  Alliance, 
05 ;  Alexander  of  Russia,  08 ; 
Nicholas,  71;  his  diplomacy,  72; 
Turkish  War,  75. 

Allen,  tl.,  Antoeraey  in  Poland  and 
Passiay  75(). 

Allans,  Dr.,  7'he  Bible  Handbook^ 
242. 

Archer,  J.  W.,  Vestiges  of  Old  J/ondon^ 
285 ;  fame  of,  285  ;  earliest  mention, 
287;  the  Norman  Snrression,  288; 
relies,  200;  the  Toirer^  205;  the 
Fleet  ditch^  205  ;  old  London  shops, 
207. 

Austin,  Mrs,  Germany ^  from  1700  to 
1811,875. 

Baeons  Essays^  and  Nornm  Organon^ 
072;  scholastic  philosophy,  072; 
early  life  of  Raeou,  075  ;  public  life, 
070";  his  disgrace,  077;  writings, 
070 ;  on  Studies^  085  ;  iisa  historian, 
OSO ;  his  mental  and  inond  cha¬ 
racter,  ()88. 

Baines,  E.,  Edneation,  482. 

Baldery\'l\  \  character  of  work,  424; 
course  of  life,  420;  marria^re,  427 ; 
death  of  child,  428  ;  sulfering,  420  ; 
Kxtraets^  452. 

Barnard,  Ci.,  The  Theory  and  Praetiee 
of  Idtndseape  Painting  in  H'ater 
Colours y  757. 

N.s. — VOL.  vni.  B 


Hibliral  Literature^  The  Library  of 
028.  ■  ‘ 
Riij^,  J.  S.,  Night  and  the  Souf  100  ; 
present  seh  u)lof  poetry,  I/O;  Night 
and  the  Bouf  172;  other  pieces, 

r  * 

/i). 

Black ic,  J.  S.,  The  Pronunciation  of 
Greek\  050  ;  methods  of  pnmoune- 
inij,  000  ;  neeoit nation,  0(i5  ;  mo¬ 
dern  ( I  reek,  00)7  ;  history  of  the 
lanijmu^,  OtiO. 

Bunpmer,  L.  F.,  Voltaire  and  his 
Times.  Julian^  107. 

Bunsen,  C.  C.  d.,  llippolytus  and  his 
Age.  Analecta  Ante  Nicrena^  Out¬ 
lines  of  the  Philosophy  of  Vnirersal 
History^  000;  effect  of  fiip)>olytus, 
000  ;  writings  of  the  (Jiiosties,  (iO  1 ; 
Shepherd  of  Hernias^  005  ;  pn‘sene(! 
of  rationalism,  f)07. 

Biirder,  iF.,  ICatts  and  thers,  5f)7. 

Butler^  S.f  The  Poetical  ff'orks  of 
500. 

Candlish,  Dr.,  Examination  of  4/r. 
Maurice^ s  'Thetdogical  Lisxays^  77; 
contents,  77  ;  on  Atonement  Dr. 
Smith’s  Christian  Theology ^  81  ;  duty 
of  prayer^  82;  Count  (hisparin’s 
M'ork,  85  ;  Popery^  80  ;  the  He- 
formers^  80. 

Carlisle,  Ki^d)t  Hon.  the  flnrl  of, 
l)iary  in  Turkish  and  Greek  IVaters^ 
725;  Emjmror  of  Austria,  721; 
passage,  of  the  Danube,  725  ;  Con¬ 
stantinople  life,  72f>;  Turkish  cha¬ 
racter,  720  ;  state  of  (irceee,  75t) ; 
piditics  of  modern  Greece,  755. 

(hustro,  Sehor  De,  History  of  Heligious 
Intolerance  in  Spain,  211. 

('hat mers.  Dr.,  S>drct  ff  orks  of  028. 

D 


770 


INDEX. 


Christian  Income  and  Expenditure^  50G. 
Chronicles  of  Merry  England ^  loi. 
Claude^  the  Colporteur^  10 1. 

C\>oks,  Dr.,  The  Sea  H  eed  Collectors 
(I Hide y  759. 

Cotrper^  The  Poetical  Works  of 
lOG,  2  10. 

Croslaiui,  Mrs.,  Lydia,  111. 

If  Arhlay,  Madame,  Diary  and  Ddfers 
of  505. 

Darling,  J.,  Ci/cloptedia  Bibliographiea, 
108. 

Davis,  N.,  Erenings  in  my  Tent,  11; 
African  cainj),  15  ;  legal  procedure, 
IG;  capahilities  of  the  Megro,  19; 
jigcncy  to  examine  the  interior  of 
Africa,  21  ;  habits  of  the  desert,  21; 
Bedouin  tribes^  27. 

Davy,  J.,  The  West  Indies  before  and 
since  SI  a  re  Emancipation,  17  ;  colo¬ 
nial  rule,  IS  ;  improrernent  in  Barba- 
does,  50  ;  West  Indian  ]>oj)ulations, 
51  ;  education,  o\',  reforms  needed, 
5G. 

Deans,  W.,  History  of  the  Ottoman 
Empire^  1171. 

Decimal  Coinage ;  Report,  GOO ;  early 
means  of  barter,  GOO;  ancient  coins, 
GttO;  present  money,  GOl;  reasons 
for  change,  G05  ;  advantages  of 
(h'cimal  coinage,  GOS  ;  proposed 
plans,  (ilO;  obstacles,  G17. 
Delamarre,  On  the  Food  of  Nations 
and  (i rain  Stores  ;  ! /tans  upon  Corn  ; 
and  the  Destruction  of  bisects,  151; 
breail-riots,  151  ;  corn  trade  of 
France,  157  ;  destruction  by  insects, 
15S  ;  their  habits  and  species,  159. 
De  Quincey,  T.,  Selections  (I rare  and 
day,  from  Works  Published  and 
In  published,  3S5  ;  author’s  genius, 
IlS5  ;  the  present  works,  .1S7  ;  his 
childhood^  iiS9  ;  Apprinich  to  l/judon,  ^ 
39 1 ;  his  manhood,  39G. 

Donaldson,  Dr.,  La t hue  Grannnaticre 
Rudimenta,  758. 

Dove,  1*.  E.,  The  Elements  of  Political 
Science,  IGG  ;  study  of  social  science, 
‘H)G  ;  science  of  politics,  -ItiS  ;  natural 
theory,  170  ;  duty  of  Christian,  173  ; 
a  majority,  174;  property,  177. 
Dramatists,  Songs  from  the,  502. 
Drydeu,  J.,  Poetical  Works  of  lOG. 
Durrieu,  X.,  The  Present  State  of  Mo¬ 
rocco,  237. 


Edmonston's  MilUus  Paradise  I/)st, 

,  b28. 

Educational  Literature,  31 G;  goveni- 
ment  school-books,  317  ;  worth  of, 
319,  free  trade  books,  321;  coin- 
|)arison,  32 G. 

Education,  National,  182  ;  secular 
scheme,  483  ;  objections,  484  ;  (jo- 
vernment  measure,  487  ;  grants, 
488  ;  jiresent  state  of  question,  492  ; 

I  testimony  of  census,  493. 

Elfendi,  H.  K.  A.,  The  Thistle  and  the 
Cedar  of  l/'banon,^Ti\. 

Erasmus,  The  Life  and  Works  of  341  ; 
early  life,  342  ;  becomes  a  monk, 
315;  love  of  letters,  34G;  contro- 

i  versy  with  Luther,  350;  residence 
at  Basel,  353  ;  his  works,  3G0 ;  in¬ 
decision,  3G2. 

Erskine,  W.,  A  History  of  India  under 
the  first  two  Sorereigns  of  the  House 
of  Taimur,  Baber  and  Humayun, 
528  ;  origin  of  the  Tartars,  530; 
their  warlike  character,  532  ;  their 
conquests,  535. 

Eleteher,  J.,  Commentary  and  Prayer 
Book,  113,  757. 

Foster,  C.  J.,  Elements  of  Jurisprudence, 
711;  its  department,  714;  ethics 
71 G  ;  heathen  and  Christian  maxims, 
718;  rights  of  nature,  720;  on  re¬ 
volution,  721. 

Gasparin,  A.  de.  The  Schools  of  Doubt 
and  the  School  of  Faith,  77. 

Gautier,  T.,  Constantinople  of  To-day, 

271. 

Gcddart,  Mrs.,  The  Elder  Brother,  50t). 
Gerowski,  Count  A.  de,  Russia  and  its 
People,  504. 

GerstdekeFs  'Travels,  241.^ 

Gloag,  P.  J.,  A  'Treatise  on  the  Assur¬ 
ance  of  Salvation,  507. 

Golovin,  J.,  The  Nations  of  Russia  and 
'Turkey,  223. 

Gurney,  J.  J.,  The  Memoirs  of  299; 
ancestry,  299  ;  early  life,  301 ;  joins 
the  Friends,  304 ;  literary  vigour, 
305  ;  friendships,  308  ;  travels,  31 1 ; 
agitations,  312;  character,  315. 

Hamilton,  SirW.,  The  Collected  Jf  orks 
of  Du  gal  d  Stewart,  501. 

I  Hamilton,  W.  T.,  'The  Pentateuch  and 
1  its  Assailants,  514;  obligations  to 


INDEX. 


t  i  1 


the  Bible,  511;  forms  of  scepticism, 
5 17  ;  atfarh  oti  the  BiblCy  54S  ;  the 
period  of  creation,  55  i. 
llaimu’s  Memoirs  of  Chalmers,  505. 

1  lav  ward,  A.,  Ijord  Chesterfield,  and 
(ieorge  Bettrjfn,  753. 

Headley,  V.  (J.,  The  Life  of  I/ynis  Kos~ 
snth,  (iorernor  of  llungarg,  303  ; 
political  refugees,  303  ;  early  life  of 
Kossuth,  307  ;  course  in  Hungary, 
308  ;  as  a  statesman,  30‘J ;  s]X)eehes 
on  the  present  war,  371.  ! 

llennigsen,  F.,  Iterefations  of  Russia,  | 
223 ;  Russian  national  dissensions,  I 
223;  German  einii^rants,  228;  the 
Bole,  230 ;  the  Cossaek,  231;  tlie 
Finn,  235  ;  otlier  races,  230.  1 

llcttner,  H.,  Athens  and  the  Pelopon-  \ 
nese,  530. 

Hill,  S.  S.,  Trarels  on  the  Shores  of  the 
Baltic,  207  ;  notice  of  Finland,  208  ; 
Jlelsingfors,  200 ,  Cronstadt,  211; 
lions  (f  St.  Fetersburgh,  213;  Mos-  j 
coic,  211.  j 

Holt,  1).,  Jan  ns,  and  other  Poems,  100.  | 
Horroeks,  J.  D.,  Zeno,  100.  | 

Imperial  Gazetteer^  The,  230. 
loka'i,  M.,  Unngarian  Sketches  in  Peace 
and  H  ar,  530;  style  of  work,  530  ; 
Hungarian  Squire,  5  12 ;  liesnlts  of 
IFar,  5  12 ;  Imnatics  in  Unngarg,  5  13. 
Irviiu',  F.,  Fitr  the  Oracles  of  God. 
For  Judgment  to  Come,  1  ;  no  me¬ 
moir  of  Irvim^,  1  ;  a  Sabbath  in 
the  Caledonian  Chapel,  3;  Irvinj^’s 
])reachin‘',  5  ;  ireuius,  0;  creed,  11. 
Israel  in  Fggpti  758. 

Jack  and  the  Tanner  of  Wgmondham, 

101. 

Jav,  \V.,  Final  Discourses  at  Arggle 
Chapel,  Bath,  503. 

Jag,  It'.,  The  Antobiographg  of  5/0; 4 
earlg  life,  bli  -,  conrersion,  571  ; 
habits,  577  ;  i)reaehinjr,  570  ;  Her.  \ 
JohnSewton,  582;  Her.  John  Rgland, 
581;  Mr.  Wilberforce,  580 ;  powers  i 
as  a  preacher,  50 1 .  • 

Jerdan,  IF.,  The  Antobiographg  of,  CdS.  , 

I 

Kinj',  1).,  Presbgterian  Form  of  Church 
Gorernment,  5nr>.  I 

Kinj^sley,  C,,  Alexandria  and  her 
Schools,  170  ;  the  Ftolemaic  Fra,  j 
178;  the  Idgts  of  Theocritus,  180  ; 


Neo-Platonism,  1S2  ;  The  Cross  and 
the  Crescent,  iSl;  Mohammed,  187  ; 
Sermons  on  National  Sul)jeets,  020. 

Kirkus,  \\ .,  Christ \anitg.  Theoretical 
and  Practical,  503. 

Krause,  \V  .  H.,  A  Brief  Memoir  of 
the  late  Miss  Rosa  F.  C.  S  icholson, 
500. 

I 

j  Vm,  The,  f.27. 

Laini?,  S.,  }sotes  of  a  Trareller  on  the 
Social  and  Political  State  of  Siritzer- 
land,  Italg,  and  other  imrts  of  Furtqie, 
during  the  V resent  Ventnrg,  371. 

Landor,  W .  S.,  The  Isist  Fruit  off  an 
Old  Tree,  023. 

Lardiier,  l)r..  The  }[ii.teum  of  Science 
and  Art,  30;  merits  of  style,  31  ; 
are  the  planets  inhabited}'  33;  on 
latitmh's  and  loni'itudes,  35  ;  shoot¬ 
ing  stars,  3<) ;  lunar  intluences,  It). 

Lejisk,  W.,  The  Closet  Book,  500. 

Lilg  Gordon,  500. 

liiterarv  Intelliirtmcc,  127,  250,  381, 

5 12, *010,  ?(>?. 

V Ourerture,  Toussaint,  Life  of  Oil  ; 
early  history  of,  0 12  ;  slave  insur- 
reetion  in  St.  l)omin;xu,  015  ;  Tous¬ 
saint  as  I'cneral,  010  ;  sneees.ses, 
052;  cruel  treatment  by  Napoleon 
Buonaparte,  050. 

MacCabe,  W.  B.,  The  Catholic  I/istorg 
of  England,  021. 

.Mackintosh,  Maj.-(ien.,  A  Militarg 
Tour  in  European  Turkeg,  Ac.,  271. 

Maekinttmh,  Sir  J.,  The  Miscellaneous 
Works  of  2  10. 

Mahon,  Lord,  Historg  of  England,  15t) ; 
time  of  American  war,  151  ;  cjLse  of 
.Major  .\ndre,  153  ;  ministerial 
changes,  157;  Me.  Pitt  on  reform, 
•l(i2  ;  state  of  unirersities,  101. 

.Mather,  J.,  The  Coal  Mines,  102. 

.M‘(adloch,  .1.  K.,  Russia  and  Turkeg, 

237. 

.Melly,  (r..  School  Experiences  of  a  Fag 
at  a  Public  and  a  Prirate  School, 
755. 

.Michelson,  K.  H.,  The  Ottoman  Empire 
and  its  Resources,  271. 

.Miles,  M .,  Sordurfari  ;  or,  Rambles  in 
Iceland,  753. 

MoiukI,  Saint  Paul,  5O0. 

.Morbiil.a,  100. 

Mormonism,  028. 


INDEX. 


772 


Morrll,  J.  R.,  Rmsia  and  England^ 
110. 

Mosaic  Record  in  Harmony  with  the 
(rfolt^ical,  0:^9. 

Murchison,  Sir  R.  I.,  Stinria^  502 ; 
present  work,  593 ;  Silurijiu  rocks, 
594 ;  fossils  and  zoophytes,  59() ; 
author’s  deductions,  599. 

O’Rricn,  P.,  Journal  of  a  Residence  in 
the  Danuhian  Principalities^  271. 
Oldacrc,  C.,  The  luist  of  the  Old  Squires, 
754. 

Oldham,  John,  Poetical  Works  of,  752. 
Opie,  A.,  Memorials  of  the  IJfe  o/)  210 ; 
Mrs.  Opie  Jis  a  fiction  writer,  210  ; 
early  associations,  217  ;  ylimpse  of 
Bonaparte,  219  ;  joins  t lie  Society  of 
Friends,  221. 

Patmore,  P.  G.,  My  Friends  and  Ac¬ 
quaintance,  099  ;  history  .and  bio¬ 
graphy,  099  ;  ])resent  work,  701  ; 
otVcnsivc  portraits  of  literary  clia- 
racters,  701  ;  bad  character  of  w  ork, 
713. 

Pulsky,  F.,  Tlic  Tricolor  on  the  Atlas, 

020. 

Review  of  the  Month:  Roman  Catholic 
Endow  incut,  113;  the  Rallot,  115; 
Church-rates,  110;  Re-marriage  at 
Frome,  1 19;  Oxford  University  Rill, 
120,  2 13;  Education,  122,  247,  031; 
Ministerial  changes,  122;  the  War, 
123,  253,  3S0,  511,  037,  703;  Irish 
Regium  l)onum,  245;  Chiu'ch  Build¬ 
ing  Act,  218;  Maynootli,  248,  377; 
Census  Returns,  250;  Bribery  Bill, 
252;  Spanish  Revolution,  254,  382, 
702;  Slavery,  255,  702;  Sunday 
Question,  375;  Doings  of  Parlia¬ 
ment,  377,  0)34;  Encyclical  Letter, 
507;  Mazzini,  508;  Thanksgiving- 
day,’  509 ;  Religions  Liberty,  509 ; 
Cholera,  029;  Evangelical  Alliiuice, 
032;  Congregational  Union,  035; 
Denmark,  030;  Sir  John  Franklin’s 
fate,  759;  Christ’s  Hospital,  700. 
Rogers,  11.,  Fjssays,  Selected  from  Con- 
tri  hut  ions  to  the  ‘  Edinburgh  Rerieic,' 
129;  on  Thomas  Fuller,  131 ;  Andrew 
Marvel,  134;  Luther,  135;  Leibnitz, 
138;  Pascal,  140;  Platoand  Socrates, 
140;  British  Pulpit,  150. 

Russian  Peasantry,  Condition  of,  91; 


effect  of  censorship,  92;  serfdom,  92; 
nobility,  98;  origin  of  serfdom,  100; 

_  silence  of  authors,  101. 

Schaff,  P.,  History  of  the  Apostolic 
Church.  The  Life  and  Latuturs  of 
St.Augustitie,  399;  German  theology, 
400;  present  work,  402;  defects, 
403;  small  nnmber  of  church  his¬ 
torians,  407 ;  position  of  the  Church, 
409. 

Schamyl,  237. 

Scott,  P.,  A  Poefs  Children  ',  169. 

Scripture,  Plain  Significance  of,  759. 

Shady  Side,  The,  759. 

Shenstone,  William,  The  Poetical  Works 
of  754. 

Shrines  of  the  Holy  Lund,  505. 

Smith,  J.  P.,  First  Lines  of  Christian 
Theology,  77. 

Smith,  S,  Works  of,  109. 

Songs  of  the  Present,  169. 

Spencer,  Capt.,  Turkey,  Russia,  the 
Black  Sea,  and  Circassia,  271  ; 
Servia,  272;  SUistria,  273;  mouths 
of  the  Danube,  275;  social  and 
spiritual  position,  276;  Circassia, 
279;  Selatstopol,  283. 

Spencer,  H.,  Orer  Legislation ,  505. 

Stewart,  D.,  The  Collected  Works  of, 
108,  501,  627. 

St.  lre}ueus.  The  Works  of  257 ;  as 
bishop  in  Gaul,  258;  his  ‘Five  Books 
against  the  Gnostic  Heresy,’  262; 
other  writings,  266 ;  the  present 
edition,  267;  opinions  of,  270. 

Stokes,  II.  S.,  The  kale  of  Lanherne, 
506. 

Stowe,  Mrs.,  Sunny  Memories  of  Foreign 
hinds,  327 ;  present  work,  328;  her 
reception,  329;  Scott,  332;  Shake¬ 
speare,  333;  literary  celebrities,  335; 
Kossuth,  3  to. 

Sunday  at  Home,  505. 

Talfourd,  T.  N.,  Vacation  Rambles,  112. 

Taylor,  G.  11.,  Palestine,  112. 

Theologia  Germanica,  238. 

Thornton,  E.,  A  Gazetteer  of  Indian 
Empire,  625. 

Trench,  R.  C.,  On  the  Lessons  in  Pro¬ 
verbs,  759. 

Van  de  Velde,  C.  W.  M.,  Narrative  of 
a  Journey  through  Syria  and  Palest iim 
in  the  Years  1851  and  1852,  411; 


INDEX. 


773 


difficulties,  415;  route,  41  f);  Jeru¬ 
salem,  418,  42*2;  l)e;ul  Sea,  420. 

Vehse,  E.,  Memoirs  of  the  Court  of 

Prussia^  110. 

Viiiet,  A.,  Hisforif  of  French  Literature 
in  the  Fiphteeuth  Ceutu/y^  553;  style 
of  work,  553;  French  authors,  555; 
hv|V)crisy  of  French  society,  557 ; 
Saint-Pierre's  description  of  tropical 
clouds^  5G4;  ehanpe  to  frankness, 
5G5;  French  chanictcristics,  5G8. 

Waddinp^on,  G.,  The  Condition  and 
Prospects  of  the  (I reek  or  Oriental 
Churchy  513;  intercourse  of  Greeks 
and  Latins,  515;  policy  of  Mahonu'd 
Tl.,  51G;  of  Seylim  I.,  517;  exposi¬ 
tion  of  the  Kussiau  Creed  in  H)42, 
520;  extent  of  Greek  church,  521 ; 
doctrines  of,  523. 

Waller^  Kdm.^  Poetical  Works  of  752. 

Wardlaw,  Dr.,  Discourses  and  Services 
on  occasion  of  the  Death  of  the  late^ 
75G. 


Wc.sterton,  C.,  Popish  Practices  at  St, 
Paul's^  Knightshridge^  G2S. 

4V  he  well,  W.,  I  ret  u  res  on  the  History 
of  Moral  Philosttphy  in  England^ 
435 ;  systems  of  morality,  435  ; 
author’s  scheme,  437;  its  oriu^in, 
430 ;  supreme  latr^  442  ;  church  of 
ri'fonn,  443;  moralists,  445. 

AVhitty,  E.  M  ,  The  (ivrerning  Classes 
of  Great  Britain^  755. 

AVillMTforce,  K.  J.,  The  Doctrine  of  the 
Holy  Eucharist.  Jn  Im/uiry  into  the 
Principles  of  Church  Authority^  734; 
Author’s  family,  734  ;  Bishop  of 
Oxford  on  ‘  The  Eucharist 73G ; 
Author’s  opinions,  737;  ohjeetions 
to,  742;  Church  authority,  745; 
nature  of  the  Church,  74G;  want  of 
integrity,  740. 

Wyatty  Pitetical  Works  of  Sir  T.^  502. 

Young  Scholar's  Companion  to  the  Ixittn 
Accidence f  750. 


LONDON: 

SAVILL  AND  EDWARDS,  PRINTERS,  4,  CHANDOS  STREET, 
COVKNT  GARDEN.